Happy Birthday Vegeta
by RavenDi
Summary: Who could have known that a story about the identity crisis of Vegetasama would involve so many? :
1. Accidental Discovery

This is in fact a revised, repost of a story that was removed several years ago due to it's NC-17 rating. I figure any story that can last that long in my head, deserves to be finished.

Happy Birthday Vegeta

Chapter One: Accidental Discovery

Something has inspired a terrible melancholy in our most loved Saiyan Prince…

…_Is it all these baka holidays? Christmas, New Year's, Father's Day, Mother's Day (humph), and birthdays….those might be the worst of the whole damn lot. _

He narrows his eyes in dark remembrance of last year's birthday fiasco, a scowl drawing his brow together and mouth downward. _Dinner in a public place with the Son family was well enough._ At a garish little place that specialized in spicy foods and Saiyan quantities…Until the staff gathered around him and crammed that crazy-colored hat onto his flame shaped hair and started singing! A bunch of strangers snapping and clapping and singing that baka 'happy birthday' song, while his family and Kakkarot's laughed until tears poured…

How much humiliation is Royalty supposed to put up with? _None. _He released his frustration in a beam of ki that decimated the straw hat that contributed to his degradation. He'd confiscated and destroyed the photos…but nothing could repair the indignity.

_Goku, would have loved it. _The damn hat, the stupid song, and the stupid damn dog with the spring-loaded head, that bobbled at the slightest provocation. Ki flared once again in his fingertips, but he found to his complete disgust, that he _still _could not blast the dog. _Because it reminds me of him_. "Damn you Kakkarot." His eyes suspiciously bright, he powered down and retrieved the small figurine. Big round puppy dog eyes, innocent eyes, were painted on its face.

"Another year Kakkarot." His voice was gruff with restrained emotion. "Another year on this cursed mudball that you loved so much you died for it. I would gladly trade you places if Kami wouldn't consider it an improvement of my situation." His fingers clenched around the ceramic toy in unconscious tension.

"I _hate_ this place that is not my home! And I _hate _this man who is not, me." The head bobbled in commiseration, its big eyes looking solemn.

"Prince Vegeta should have died the day his planet, his parents, and his people died."

For every race exterminated at Freiza's command, for every planet left barren and raped, for all the innocence destroyed, surely _he_ _deserved_ death.

"Perhaps not." he held the dog up and whispered to it's face, "Because here I am, day after precious day, Prince of _Nothing_," he spat. "Mated to a weakling human, bearing offspring that are neither Saiyan nor heir-" (to anything from him, Capsule Corp belonged to Bulma.) It sickened him. Tears burned and were evaporated before they could streak his face with tell-tale lines.

"Maybe I _did_ die at Frieza's hands and _this_ is my Hell. This weak, empty bastard left in my place." Left to deal with an unspeakable past, an alien present and the ultimate disassociation.

As if realizing they were expressing his emotions, his fingers froze, and then dropped the ceramic dog like a poisonous thing, where it hit the floor and predictably broke.

For a moment, there was none of Vegeta's resolve left, his eyes closed slowly in anguish. Then, the mask that had protected him his entire life, from his father, and Frieza and countless others, slid into place. He snorted and stalked from the house, headed for his other protection, the gravity room.

Bulma stepped from the shadows, her face a mirror of the pain Vegeta could not express, tears flowing freely to dampen her blouse. 'I knew that something had been bothering him, I thought maybe Goku's death…He's never let anyone see how alone he is. Not even me.' She stopped in the center of the room and scooped up the pieces of the silly dog. It would fix easily, her No Ouiji would not.


	2. The Pitch

Trying to post a chapter every few days, since it gets much better later on!

Happy Birthday Vegeta

Chapter Two: The Pitch

Bulma Briefs was a gifted woman. Blessed at birth with an infinitely quick mind as well as stunning beauty would have hampered a lesser person. Her beauty and intellect were only slightly surpassed by her ambition, and when you were the pivotal focus of what Bulma wanted, well, it was rather like having hentai tattooed on your brain with a laser.

The Z fighters had gathered at her request, in a conference room at Capsule Corp Headquarters. It had been the only place she had felt Vegeta would not accidentally stumble on what she was doing or overhear with those damn Saiyan ears of his.

There was another reason she had chosen this setting. She knew it was going to take some persuasion on her part, and she needed every edge. So it was Corporate Bulma, with her hair secured in a French twist, wearing a turquoise power suit who greeted the responders to her call…Krillin, Gohan and Piccolo. Sadness shadowed her face as she realized that Goku would not be joining them.

"So, what's this about Bulma?" Krillin broke the ice for them.

"I need your help." If she couldn't enlist their aid, she was going to be gone a lot, and Vegeta would be instantly suspicious.

"You know whatever we can do…What's the problem?" Gohan put in earnestly.

Swallowing her nervousness, she glanced at the paperwork on her clipboard before answering. "I need help gathering the dragonballs."

Piccolo said nothing, his face blank of the surprise echoed by the others in the room.

"Why do you need the dragonballs Bulma?" Krillin looked vaguely concerned. If she told them what she was actually contemplating, they'd leave, but not before trying to check her into a nice, quiet hospital, so she wore a guarded smirk stolen straight from Vegeta's face when she replied, "I want to make a…personal…wish for Vegeta's birthday. It's obviously huge, or I wouldn't need the dragonballs to pull it off, right? And if I'm going to get it done before B-Day, I need your man power, and um, Namek power to help me collect them." _Perfectly feasible_, she smiled confidently.

Adjusting his glasses, Gohan said, "This could take years, even with the radar."

In her element and armed with her research, she shook her head negatively. "Nope, I've done my homework to make this as easy as it can be. First, I had the radar replicated so we're not limited to going one place at a time. Secondly, I've plotted very probable locations for the balls, within 99 accuracy. It's really just a matter of delegating the locations, retrieval and travel time. I think we can do it in a day or two."

Shaking his head in disbelief, Krillin spoke. "I don't want to get you started on how you were able to pre-locate the balls, but how many of them are in hostile territory?"

"Well, maybe one. Sentient hostility anyway."

Gohan grinned. "I just finished a semester at school this week, I happen to have some down time coming."

Piccolo actually looked alarmed. "ChiChi will kill you."

They laughed nervously at the brutal statement, but Gohan sighed and shook his head in agreement. "With Dad gone again, she is running things pretty tight. I'll just have to convince her I won't be gone for more than a day or two."

There was a moment of quiet between them as they missed Goku collectively.

"How about it Piccolo?" Bulma's demure voice belied the possibility that everything she was trying to accomplish hinged on the Namek's answer. "Will you help?"

He looked hard at Bulma, but he might as well have been trying to peer into the mind of the Saiyan Prince himself. He wondered if she knew the strength of her mental shield was less her ability than her spouse's. Thank Kami the dragonballs were limited in their power. Not that she couldn't create nine hells of trouble, but she couldn't unravel the fabric of the universe with them. His sigh, was reluctant. "If Gohan is helping, then I will assist as well."

"All right! This will be cool! Kinda like old times." Krillin's enthusiasm was catching.

"Wonderful! I don't think there's any way I can repay you, but you have only to ask if you need anything." Relief flowed through Bulma's veins followed by a chaser of adrenaline. "All right then," flipping through her charts, "This is where we'll start."


	3. Search and Retrieve

Happy Birthday Vegeta

Chapter Three: Search and Retrieve

"Good Kami Krillin! What happened?"

Krillin's face was covered in soot, his clothes scorched to indecency, and in his trembling hand, was one smoking dragonball. If they hadn't been burnt away, Krillin would have arched an eyebrow before answering Bulma's inquiry.

"You don't consider volcanic activity to be 'sentient hostility?'" His throat was raw from exposure to volatile gases, his voice rough.

Bulma paled, feeling immediate guilt for Krillin's state of advanced…toastiness. "Are you hurt? Do You need medical-"

Krillin shook his singed head. "Nah, just surface damage."

There was a snicker behind Bulma, and another, and Krillin began to smile. At his grin, Gohan and Bulma burst into laughter. "Kuso for a camera!" Chuckling, Bulma pulled on large thick mitts and stole Krillin's prize from his palm, gasping at the radiant heat it still held. She juggled it precariously until it had cooled enough to be inspected. It was approximately the size of a softball, covered in a smoky film which Bulma wiped gently away from the globe. When she was finished, the four stars within were easily seen. "Konnichiwa Grandpa Gohan." Bulma acknowledged honorifically as she placed the fourth dragonball in a foam lined security case, which she then encapsulated.

"Well, that's three of the seven…." She updated her computer log and then pulled geographical charts onto the screen. "Piccolo shouldn't have any problem really with the fifth dragonball. I mean, the locale is mountainous, weather looks quiet though cold…" She squinted at the screen as her fingers flew over the keyboard, the charts changing and resizing to her commands.

_The remote mountain village of Khishan_

"If I find out she knew about this, she's dead." The Namek flew painstakingly through the heavy snowfall. He tapped the scouter he wore, and adjusted his direction according to the radar. Bulma had modified the scouter to function as a dragon radar in addition to it's usual applications. The blinking light on the screen in front of his eye indicated that he was right above where the fifth dragonball should be. He powered down and as he landed, he sank thigh deep, in cold, wet snow. His armor became immediately soaked and clung soggily to his form, a shiver racked his body. 'So dead.' He thought with a smile that chased away the local wildlife.

He surveyed his surroundings through very limited visibility, and thought he saw the outline of several houses huddled together against the ferocity of the storm. Slogging through at least three feet of densely packed snow, unable to see through the screen of the scouter, and freezing his Namekian parts off…Piccolo got angry. With a disgusted sound he drew on his ki, drying his clothes from the inside out and enclosing himself in a softly glowing sphere. However risky the expulsion of his energy was, it paid dividends in that it improved both his mood and his vision.

He stopped in front of one of the windowless cabins, and the wind tore around him howling but unable to affect him. He was getting no ki reading from the scouter, 'useless damn thing,' but his own senses, told him the dwelling was occupied…perhaps, even a threat. He stood a moment longer before the scraping sound of a door being opened reached his ears.

Sirabi looked at the tall, muscled and gently glowing form in her doorway, and made the only assumption she could.

"Kami!" she breathed, eyes wide and hopeful.

"Not anymore." Piccolo replied.

Well, this is where is went awry from what I thought it should be…grins and also where the chapters start getting a little more substance…


	4. Intro to Sirabi

A/N: If I haven't mentioned it before now, this story is not JUST about our Prince. It's also about those whose lives revolve with his…

Happy Birthday Vegeta

Chapter 4: An Introduction to Sirabi

"Please come in out of the cold, Kami." She stepped back into the room and gestured for him to enter the cabin, which he did in a blast of frigid air and swirling snow. He glanced at the floor where clumps of snow were quickly melting into puddles, and without thought, the tiniest flare of ki from his fingertips evaporated the mess.

Sirabi hissed as his power pulsed through her body and left her quivering. She forced herself to move, hoping to disguise her response with motion. She brushed past him silently, causing a frission of…awareness…in him.

Her height equaled his but she moved with a grace that belied it as she took a steaming kettle from the hearth and placed it on the table. Looking up, a curtain of sable hair framed her face, and she seemed surprised that he hadn't followed her into the room. She inhaled slowly, hoping to assuage the need he evoked, praying her voice would not betray her and tremble as her body did.

"Tea, Kami?"

Piccolo started for the table, and froze dead in his tracks when he saw it. It was set cozily for two, with tiny china cups and matching saucers, lace-edged napkins, and polished silver spoons. A single rose bud waited in a faceted crystal vase. In the center of it all, luminescing on an ornate brass stand, was the number five dragonball.

"Who…are…you?" Piccolo all but growled.

She was unable to suppress the answering smile that curved across her face and stole his breath.

"You know who I am. Or at least I think part of you does." Her voice slid around him, through his sensitive ears, sultry, suggestive. There, in the back of his mind, was that…awareness, again. He stared hard at her heart-shaped face, and amber eyes, and remembered. Rather, _Kami _remembered.

Kami remembered a much younger Sirabi, before the life lines had gathered beside those almond eyes or beside her laughing mouth. He remembered training with her in the Solar Temple, the teachers all greatly impressed by her potential as a healer and seer. He also recalled their concern about her sensitivity to energy, a weapon too easily used against her he thought with warmth. To his shame, when he became Guardian, she was one of the things he had to leave behind.

"Sirabi…is it?" Piccolo's throat was dry. So little was an actual threat to his person, that very few things had the power to un-nerve him. But this, was just bizarre. She stirred his memories of Kami, whose regret was overpowering… In an attempt to distract himself, he looked pointedly at the windowless walls and asked, "How did you know I was here?"

Golden eyes narrowed in disbelief, then she shrugged, a small casual shift of her shoulders. "Even if I were not a gifted seer, you were lit like a lantern in this storm."

He nodded, but floundered internally, until Kami entered the conversation in his mind.

_Kami_ - "She has been trained to perceive your energy signal, not unlike Goku and the others warriors. It has always been something of a strong suite for her." A wave of admiration and respect for Sirabi flooded his system and bent his mind.

Accustomed to being the dominant presence in his mind made it very hard for Piccolo to suddenly share the space. He fought the thoughts and feelings thrust upon him, that were not his own. He shook his head abruptly, however, it did not make the voice go away. In fact, it seemed to clarify it.

_Kami_ - "I think this is no chance meeting…" Piccolo grabbed his head and groaned as a flash of Kami's hope took root in his heart.

Sirabi moved quickly, putting her hands on Piccolo's chest she pushed him into one of the waiting chairs.

"Easy, friend…" she soothed. "Kami, _shut up_ for a moment, the boy is clearly having difficulty adjusting."

_Piccolo_ - 'Boy?'

Kami expanded his awareness, until Piccolo's body, was his.

Those steady hands on his chest, the sound of a voice he never thought to hear again, her breath warm against his throat….Piccolo grimaced as admiration flared into a desire that wasn't his. It was not _his_ hands that grabbed her waist and pulled her onto his lap, and it for _damn sure _wasn't his idea to kiss her, but he did. That wide, soft mouth was sweeter than all of his memories. With a sigh, her hands moved tohis face, touching hesitantly, almost reverently. Tears pearled in the corners of her eyes, and slid down her cheeks.

"Kami, you _do_ remember…I was so afraid…"

"I never forgot Sirabi." his voice was low and strained with emotion. "There were things I had to do." He kissed her again, intent on taking her taste with him when he had to leave her again, as he knew he would.

"Hai," she mumbled against his mouth, "I know of your Guardianship, and I know of your sacrifice to stop Cell…I was afraid, so afraid, you'd be gone when you re-joined with Piccolo…"

Kami froze, and then groaned as he pulled his mouth away. He sighed heavily, and leaned his forehead against hers. "Sirabi, I have no right to pursue this without Piccolo's consent. This will have to be settled between the three of us."

_Piccolo_ - 'Damn right you have no right! _Settled_! How the hell are we supposed to _settle this_ Kami!"

Sirabi's appealed to Piccolo. "You are not so different from Kami, in the beginning perhaps, but not now. I would like for us, to get…acquainted."

"Can we start with you getting off my lap!" his words stung bitterly, and he gasped as Kami's anger shot through his skull like a knife.

_Kami _- "Do _not_ be rude Piccolo. I think you and I should discuss this…later. After you have fulfilled Bulma's request."

Sirabi stood very reluctantly, her eyes burned into Piccolo's with the heat of a thousand emotions before she broke away. She moved to the other side of the table, dragging her fingers gently over the surface of the dragonball as she sat, trailers of orange plasma bloomed beneath her touch. "Of course." she took a cleansing breath and spoke softly. "The dragonballs." She stared at the unusual globe, slipping easily into trance, her eyes reflecting the stars within.

"She seeks with the purest of motives, to heal the one she loves." A frown creased her brow, and the things she saw, wrenched a cry straight from her heart, to her lips. "Kami! You _know_ what the Prince has been through!" It is a half question only, for she knows the answer already. She shook her head in denial, of the things that have been, and of the things that would be. "What she asks cannot be done. It exceeds the power of Shenlon. Perhaps... if the Saiyan Prince asks the correct question, the dragon may yet hold his answer."

Sirabi blinked free of the trance, her eyes burdened with shadows from her vision. She took the globe from its stand, and held it out, but as Piccolo reached for it, she snatched it back. There was a hard glint in her eyes, that softened as she spoke. "I will gladly contribute to her cause, to a greater extent than you might like…But this matter between us, can not go unresolved." She held the ball out once more, allowing Piccolo to take it.

"Agreed." Piccolo felt Kami's relief, as he stashed the ball in his cloak and prepared to leave. Sirabi leaned in close, and kissed him.

"Thank you Piccolo."

With a nod to Sirabi, and a small stab of envy from Kami, Piccolo opened the door and disappeared into the snow.

_Bulma's Lab_

Piccolo arrived at the lab with a look of great confusion on his normally implacable face. He retained his silence as he handed the dragonball to Bulma.

"The natives weren't hostile were they?" Bulma teased.

_Kami_ - "Hardly."

Piccolo's eyes widened, and he shook his head slightly. "Not hostile, no. All the same I think Gohan can handle the next one alone. I have some…. meditating to do."

Gohan and Bulma watched bemused as the Namek left muttering to himself.

"I don't think it's such a good idea for you to go alone on this next one, Gohan…the natives may really _BE _hostile."

He smiled his father's smile, and replied, "Tell me what you know and then we'll decide."


	5. The Crescent Island

Thank You ALL for my reviews, like any author they are in large part my motivator…the other is usually some damn Saiyan threatening to blast me…My apologies for the delay. : )

Happy Birthday Vegeta

Chapter 5: The Crescent Island

"Why are we taking the jet again?"

"I think this is the easiest way to reach the location." she replied while programming their flight pattern into the onboard computer.

"Too far for one of us to just fly?" Gohan prodded curiously.

Bulma finished entering the coordinates then stretched her jean clad legs out in front of her. Seeing persistence in Gohan's handsome face, she sighed.

"The last dragonball is on an Island in the South Sea…it's inhabited by a number of unpleasant species, one of which is a brutal tribe of natives. Definitely hostile natives."

"We defeated _Cell_, and you're worried about a few spear wielding natives?" Gohan was incredulous. Bulma nibbled her bottom lip and tried to explain her _feeling_ on the matter.

"It's not just that Gohan…the island itself has a reputation for weirdness…electrical irregularities, gravitational anomalies, frankly the whole thing gives me the creeps!" She shuddered delicately.

Gohan's smile was confident and he relaxed back in his own seat. "It still doesn't sound like anything we can't handle." His smile morphed into a grin, "You _are_ with the Great Saiyaman you know…" Bulma choked back a pained groan. "Please tell me that's not the cover you're adopting?"

He slid large, dark sunglasses over his twinkling eyes and nodded. "Never fear Civilian! No harm will come to you whilst you are under my protection--Wanna see my forms?" Bulma collapsed into a fit of giggles. "Spare me the demonstration. Might as well settle in, it'll take a couple of hours to get there." Disappointment flickered in his eyes and then his smile returned like Saiyan sunshine. "What's our back up?" ( One didn't experience interplanetary travel with a person without learning something about their foibles, and he knew Bulma gave 'thorough' a new meaning. ) Bulma worried a long strand of aqua hair as she answered.

"Twenty-four hours. Krillin and Piccolo have the coordinates, and we have 24 hours before they act." Gohan nodded satisfied, and tried to sleep, leaving Bulma to stare out the window at the fluffy clouds.

_Several Hours Later_

"Well, there it is." Bulma broke the silence as a small crescent shaped island came into view beneath them. Cerulean waters lapped along the beach that was the inner curve of the crescent, hills rose in a gentle incline from sugary dunes and green plateaued across the top of the island. Bulma skillfully piloted the tiny jet around the outer curve of the island and couldn't stop the gasp that startled Gohan from his rest. Granite cliffs plunged unforgivingly down in long, sharp lines, whose jagged shapes disappeared behind a curtain of opaque mist.

"Beautiful." Gohan said eyes wide.

"Yeah. But I think we'll put down on the beach." Bulma replied. Moments later she landed the vehicle on the soft sand. Without a word, she logged onto the computer, and with a few keystrokes sent a cryptic message and coordinates to Capsule Corp, where their backup was waiting. "Just in case," she murmured. She performed a mental inventory, double checking the placement of her capsules. 'A girl never leaves home without them,' she let a nervous giggle work it's way past her lips. Her check complete, she grabbed the dragon radar and exited the plane. She saw Gohan down on the beach, and turned to encapsulate the vehicle.

Goku's son stood in the sand, facing inland, hands in his pockets, eyes closed as he scanned for signs of life. He stretched his awareness from the cliffsides, through the jungle and felt along the vast expanse of beach. A puzzled frown drew his brows together. He opened his eyes perusing much the same path visually. "Bulma?" he called as she approached from behind. "Are you sure you have the right place? I'm not getting _anything_."

"Of course I'm sure. I don't make mistakes." She took in the untamed scenery with a shiver.

"If there _is_ anything here, it's ki is very insignificant." Realizing how unlikely it was that there was nothing live on the island, Gohan tried again. He was painfully reminded of androids who had no ki signature and warriors trained to conceal their ki…unpleasant thoughts. A second negative scan clinched his unease. He turned to Bulma who was fiddling with the dragon radar. She looked up, her blue eyes worried.

"I'm not getting anything either." she spoke through a throat tight with tension.

"What?" yelped Gohan.

"The dragon radar is not indicating the direction of the dragonball. In fact, it's not indicating anything at all." she stated trying to remain calm.

"How-"

"I don't know! It was fine on the way here!" She pressed a series of buttons and held her breath for a moment before cursing fluently. Gohan blinked as the words grew progressively stronger. "Hey Bulma, Whoa! Hearing that kind of talk from you may scar me for the rest of my life!"

"It won't self-test, or reformat….it's just sitting there blinking, right in the middle of the damn screen like it's working fine, but it's not…" She stomped a bit in the sand before stopping in front of him. "I was afraid something like this might happen, dammit. I told you there were reports of electrical irregularities." She took a deep breath of the sea air and the Capsule Corp logo on her t-shirt stretched pleasantly across her chest. "We may have to do this the hard way." Gohan stared at her in confusion.

"The map-and-compass way--If you're still game, that is." Bulma teased.

Gohan surveyed the Island and was truly torn. His experience with the androids had been a bitter lesson, that there is _always _something stronger than you. But he also knew, that the chances of it being on this Island were slim to none. Weighing in heavily, was the fact that this was the last dragonball. To be so close to their goal, and quit because he couldn't put his finger on the enemy…_not happening_.

Bulma watched him as he contemplated their odds, staring, piercingly into the hills. She watched his face go from cheerful to serious, a gleam of hard-earned confidence shone in his eyes, his casual shirt pulled taut across his shoulders as he paced. She knew the truth, that even before his father's death, the anxious young man in front of her was more powerful than anyone, with the singular exception, of perhaps, Vegeta. Not for the first time, she was grateful that she'd never been on the receiving end of a real Saiyan attack. In fact, the thought gave her pause. She could only believe that Vegeta had never followed through on his constant threats to blast her into nothingness, for the same reason she had brought him home with her after the Namek affair. The thought caused her eyes to sting with emotion.

"Lead On, Bulma."

She pushed her hopelessness far beneath her façade while she pawed through her pack for the necessary maps and compass.

"Thank Kami this is the only one we have to find like this!" she grumbled hours later. They had worked their way through about half of the dense jungle that capped the island like spiky Saiyan hair, encountering only the most savage nest of baby dinosaurs that clicked and spat and flexed their featherless wings at them. They took turns distracting them and keeping a look out for the parents, while trying to search the nest full of bones and feathers and pieces of metal, for the dragonball.

The sauna-like heat had both of them sweating and breathing heavily, working hard for the oxygen in the steamy atmosphere. Bulma swore as she pushed the sticky tresses from her flushed face for the thousandth time. "I swear! When I get out of here I am SO getting my hair cut short." Gohan listened good naturedly with a half smile playing on his lips, while he searched his segment of the designated area.

He shuffled his feet through what had to be 100 years of undisturbed, decaying vegetation, and realized rather suddenly, that the heat, and in fact, the smell, were about to do him in. His head spun as the hot scent of moist, rotting plant-life filled his senses. His nose and mouth--he gasped and then gagged as the cloying sensation invaded him, covered him, his very skin felt, he felt…inundated. He shuddered and slid to his knees, leaning heavily on a nearby tree, his stomach heaving, trying to empty itself of the thick smell of death, when he dislodged what he knew had to be the dragonball. "Hey Bulma." His voice was very thin. "I think I found it."

"What?" She left her section unmarked and ran to where Gohan was kneeling next to a tree. She thought he looked a bit pale as he held the broad green leaves at bay and pointed down. "Just like an Easter Egg," She mused as she reached out a shaky hand and picked the perfectly round, gray stone from it's home on the ground. The moment her fingers touched the stone, it's rough surface began to crumble away, leaving her holding the final dragonball.

"That was interesting." Gohan rasped. She nodded, "I always forget that they revert to stone when separated after a wish." She held it up to the light and sighed as golden beams refracted and bathed the jungle with a red glow, making it look like a cathedral of sunset and flame. Having the last ball meant that the game was almost over. She wondered what would happen, would she be ignorant of her loss or simply cease to be? Horrible thought! That she would never know she had a whole other lifetime to grieve over. 'Vegeta.' She thought of her difficult Saiyan Prince, and managed a small smile, at the thought that his REAL happiness, was worth any loss.

She fished a microcapsule from her jeans pocket and sealed the ball within it. She turned to find Gohan, still pale, his breathing uneven, his dark eyes glinting with a savage compassion, that left her breathless. He'd been watching the play of emotions across her very expressive face, had seen her blue eyes darken with pain, shimmer with tears. Her pain sat on his tongue all awkward angles. His mouth thinned. Whatever she was planning to wish for must be major, if just finding the last ball brought such feeling to the surface.

To avoid the unspoken demands she read in his face, she spoke. She forced another brittle smile, and said, "Let's get the hell out of here hhhmmm Gohan?"

He stared for a moment longer, before he blinked, his eyelids chasing away silver swirls of mistrust. He nodded and replied, "Let me fly us back. I'm too damn tired to walk."

"At least back to the beach," he amended when she arched a beautiful blue eyebrow at him.

"Agreed" she tucked the capsule back into her pocket.

He stood, pulling Bulma snugly against his chest, his hands firmly on her waist, and felt for the press of ki that would propel them, but found nothing. His heart thudded in dread as he tried again. "Kuso!" He swore violently, his fingers clenching painfully into Bulma.

"Ouch!" she squeaked. "What the hell is wrong with you Gohan?"

"Be quiet for a minute, Bulma." he ordered.

He found his breath erratic, and took a moment to slow it, before centering and finding his ki. He growled, frustrated. What was usually a bright and steady glow, was scarcely a flicker, and no amount of prodding, could get it to respond with its customary flow of power. He scowled and released Bulma who turned to him concerned. "I can't get my ki to respond." his voice held a hint of horror, "I can't power up, I certainly can't fly, and I have no idea why."

She looked at his stricken face, and she tried, Kami knows she tried not to laugh. "Gohan! I'm insulted! You have _me_ in your arms and you can't get it up?" She burst into peals of laughter as his jaw dropped and his face flamed crimson.

"Bulma!" he choked on the dual humiliation of failure and the teasing.

"Hai Gohan, I know. I just couldn't resist." She chuckled as the tips of his ears blazed pinkly. "It's okay Gohan," she tried to sound supportive, "Lots of men are intimidated by beauty and brains…" She snickered lowly as Gohan wished for a hole to crawl into.

"Gomen Son-Kun, you're too easy." She grinned gently at Gohan who was still crimson and looking as if it _were_ his masculinity in question.

"Gohan, I'm sure it's temporary, somehow related to whatever is making the radar malfunction. There's not anything wrong with you physically," she blinked at the broad wall of chest in front of her. "We'll just have to walk back to the beach," she consoled, "it's not _that_ far."

"I don't like this at all, Bulma. If something--"

"_DON'T_. Stop right there." she put her hand up, "_Nothing_, is going to happen. We are going to walk back to the beach, take the jet back to Capsule Corp, and I am going to make a very special birthday wish for one stubborn Saiyan. End of Story." her voice carried a thread of final desperation. 'Literally, end of story.' she thought.

Gohan pinned her with sad eyes, that threatened to uncover her secret, before silently leading her out of the jungle.

There was a muffled sound behind him, and he spun around, just in time, to see Bulma collapse bonelessly into the arms of a very large native, with a shock of purple hair and a loincloth. "Hey!" Reflexively he threw a bolt of ki at the native, and cursed when nothing happened. Sweat dripped and the back of his neck stung, but he charged Bulma's captor in a flash lethal intent, jumping high to deliver a kick that snapped the native's head backwards with a loud crack. With a grunt the native's knees buckled and he toppled like a demolished skyscraper.

Blood pumped a cocktail of adrenaline and fury, 'she was his _responsibility_' through his body, dishonor pounded furiously in Gohan's head, but he couldn't shake the fog from his brain.

"Bulma?" He staggered, hunting frantically for Bulma, and when he found her, he could not believe his eyes. "What!" His muscles trembled with the effort of staying upright, but he shook his head and forced himself to look to his right where the native's unconscious body still lay, and back to the man who now held Bulma's equally unconscious form. The man was every inch as tall and wide, his face was identical, including a triune of stripes in red paint and a Mohawk of purple hair. "Twins." Gohan muttered. The second attacker shifted Bulma to the ground and when his hand returned it held a short, pipe with a tassel of blue bird feathers. He held the pipe to his mouth and blew, and Gohan knew no more.


	6. Hostile Natives

Just a quick Thank You to my reviewers…I don't have herds yet so you know who you are… Thank You! Thank You! Thank You! And Thanks to everyone reading, who is staying with me despite thinking, "Hey, I thought this was a Bulma/Vegeta Fic?" : ) It **is **a Bulma Vegeta fic…honest.

Happy Birthday Vegeta

Hostile Natives Ch 6

Nausea throbbing in waves from her stomach prodded Bulma into semi-conscious awareness. No where near full consciousness, she didn't even consider opening her eyes for instance…She knew without looking, that the position she was in was a new one for her. She was aware, that her arms were restrained in some manner, her legs as well. There was a sensation of movement, but most critically was the shoulder digging into her middle rhythmically, forcing bile higher into her throat with each rock. She retched involuntarily, and a weak moan escaped from her.

"This one's waking up." Rumbled from beneath the pressure on her middle.

"Almost there anyway. This one's not waking up anytime soon. He took every damn dart I had, and I didn't think it was going to be enough." The annoyed reply came, curiously accented, from somewhere in front of her. Dizziness swirled thickly in her head, she barely registered relief that Gohan was still with her, still alive. They'd live.

"You think they will please the Queen?" There was a pause, before the answer came floating back.

"If it is presented properly, yes. She will be very pleased."

"We could just give her yours….keep this one." An arm squeezed Bulma's body. This time there was a snort from the front.

He must have hit you harder than I thought, knockedwhat brain you had clean out. What happens when Mav finds out, and she _will_, that we held out on her? We _all _die. No Thanks. Better to hope her generosity matches ours."

The brother carrying Bulma grunted, disappointed that he wouldn't get to taste the unusual blue-haired creature.

They walked in silence for a long while, Bulma's consciousness surfacing only often enough for her to know her situation hadn't improved any before sliding back into oblivion.

"Ready Brother?" The voice questioned anxiously.

Bulma was shifted slightly as her captor stretched his stiff muscles before replying. "Ready."

Bulma forced heavy eyes open, only to get an eyeful of broad, naked back. Blinking she tried again, and found the distance to the ground disconcerting, vertigo pulled at her eyes with leaden weights.

"My Queen." The captors spoke in tandem.

If Bulma hadn't been trussed up and drugged senseless, she might have seen what the brothers walked in on, and she might have been mortified. Queen Mav, was not mortified. She was pissed. She leaned away from her lover to see who dared approach in her private chamber, her fingers tightened on the collar around her slave's throat. "Do. Not. Move." she commanded softly. The man, well trained, knew better than to speak, he nodded his acquiescence, inadvertently nuzzling her breast in the process. Her eyes flashed angrily at him and then at the brothers.

"You'd better, have a _very_ good reason, for interrupting my pleasure."

"My Queen," The brother holding Gohan began, --

"We captured intruders, --" The second brother spoke, the sound almost imperceptibly different from the first.

"While on patrol." They finished together as they had begun.

"Why didn't you kill them?" her voice wavered the tiniest bit, as her slave slid his fingers up the inside of her thigh, and found her damp center and teased with unerring accuracy. She stiffened.

"My Queen, we thought to gift you with them,-"

"They are unique." Again the second brother finished the sentence, and they waited, breath held for the explosion.

When it came, it relieved them, that they were not the cause.

Queen Mav, yanked hard on the collar, the leather biting into the man's throat as she pulled him to her face.

"You will _leave now_." Her fury was scarcely contained. "Be glad I'm letting you walk out of here. If I did not have other matters to attend to, I would retrain you myself, to _listen_." She stripped the collar from him in a blink, and shoved him away. "Do not make me repeat myself."

The slave's expression was incredulous as he scrambled back out of her reach. Anger drove blood to heat his cheeks and spark in his eyes, and his jaw clenched in an effort to keep his silence. He shot the brothers a condemning glare as he stormed past them.

Mav pinned the brothers with an icy stare. "This had better be good. Or I'll have new guards by sun down." The brothers shivered.

"Come on then…" Her voice was deceptively pleasant, "What have you found?"

Bulma and Gohan were lifted down from matching sets of shoulders, and placed in front of the Queen for inspection. Gohan slid down on rubber legs, sank to rubber knees, where he was held, by the ropes that bound him, preventing his complete collapse to the floor. He glanced groggily at Bulma, who was obviously not faring as well as he. Her hair spilled in a waterfall of shining blue from a head that lolled unconsciously, her body sagged against her own ropes. He pushed down the savage growl that ground in his chest. He was in no position, yet.

His head wobbled on his neck as he looked at the Queen from beneath dark bangs. His first visual impression, was that the she was much younger than the previous verbal exchange had led him to think, and she was beautiful. She seemed tall, from his place on the floor, reed slender, with short, purple hair in an untidy tousle that appealed to him.

Poison swam blackly in his head, clouding his thoughts, preventing even the slightest muscle control. It took him several sluggish heartbeats to realize she was nude, naked…not…clothed. The heartbeats thudded, then stopped.

This girl/woman wore the perfect _tan_ that Bulma was always striving for, there were _no_ lines, save for the gold chain that encircled her waist and ran down the curve of her hip as though it were molten still. He blinked fiercely, sure he was hallucinating, and when her nude ghost did not disappear, he forced his eyes up to meet hers with as much nonchalance as he could. It wasn't enough.

She stared back at him from eyes the color of amethysts, striking, violet gems, shrewdly assessing. She strode right up to him, and slid her hands in his thick hair, her small, perfect breasts level with his eyes, his mouth, which was suddenly Sahara Desert dry. She brushed his bangs out of the way, stroked the shape of his face, and hummed with pleasure. Her slow smile was a cruelly beautiful display of small, white teeth, and pink lips. She looked as though she might eat him. She leaned in, and whispered, her breath hot on his neck, "Let's see more of you shall we?" She moved a few feet away and motioned for one of the brothers. "Untie him."

The man hesitated, rubbing his jaw and frowning. His whole skull hurt where Gohan had tried to take it off. Unthinkingly he responded,"Queen Mav, that may not be wise." His brother looked at him horrified at his lack of respect and presumption, but jumped to defend him, calmly explaining. "What he means, My Queen, is that it took _six _of La'el'sdarts of stillness, to subdue him. We fear for your safety." He shook his head sharply at this brother's stupidity.

"Duly noted. Now untie him."

As you wish, My Queen." The first brother stood Gohan up on quivery legs, and began uncoiling the length of rope from around him. Gohan swallowed his groan of pain as blood returned to his arms and legs in an excruciating rush. He swayed unsteadily, and cursed his weakness, he needed every wit, every strength to get them free, but his entire body felt like a bag of mush, he couldn't seem to force thoughts to go where they needed, much less his muscles.

Mav paced around him, examining him closely. She trailed her fingers across his chest, leaving the painful tingling of returning sensation in their wake. Her hands pressed flatly down the length of his back, then her fingers curled firmly around the hidden sculpture of his biceps, before coming to rest once more on his chest. He kept his face carefully blank, but he could no longer tell whether he shook from the residual poison or from her touch.

"Very nice," she murmured. A small tan hand cupped the front of his pants and Gohan thought he might have made a tiny error in judgment. "Very nice indeed." she squeezed gently and laughed. "I can't wait to see how…long…your civilized veneer lasts."

With a sigh, she backed away, and asked, "Now, what else have you brought your Queen?" She turned to Bulma's prostrate form, and with an exultant cry, fisted her hands in the aqua tresses. "Oh! I must have this." She drew her fingers through the length, clearly enthralled with the shimmering azure color. She stood suddenly, letting loose of Bulma's hair only at the very last minute, drawing single strands through her fingers, testing the texture.

"Well done, brothers." She sauntered over to Gohan, "It just so happens I'm in need of a new slave. This one, will do very well I think." Her lips curved in a quick, nasty grin. "That one," she pointed at Bulma, "Take her head to La'el and have him use the hair for my headdress. Try not to get it bloody this time." She searched Gohan's face for his response to her words. Gohan paled, but said nothing, though part of him was beginning to panic beneath the mind numbing effects of the drug.

"Yes, my Queen." The guards bowed respectfully, and hoisted Bulma between them, but made no move to leave.

Mav's violet eyes narrowed at their hesitation. "Is there something else?"

The guards looked at Gohan who had yet to move from where they released him. Six darts. It was a miracle he could stand at all. They exchanged a look, and replied in unison, "No, my Queen."

A feral smile flashed, making her narrow face look almost fox-like.

"Wait." Her soft command stopped the men in their tracks, their backs rigid with anxiety, as the Queen was notoriously mercurial in her moods.

"I must reward such generous gifts as these," the guards relaxed just a fraction. "We will feast tonight! Your gifts will be displayed for all to see…A celebration of your skill and loyalty to your Queen."

"We are honored, Queen Mav." They responded, and she nodded her angular head. "You should be. I will have the new headdress before the festivities tonight."

"My Queen." They bowed slightly, and left Gohan alone, with the Queen.


	7. Odds and Ends

Author's Note: I still don't own. : ) Ratz.

Happy Birthday Vegeta

Chapter 7: Odds and Ends

"Gentlemen?"

Krillin motioned the approaching lab tech to silence, so as not to disturb the meditating Namek.

"What's up?" He inquired when they were well away from Piccolo. The technician took a piece of paper from his lab coat and handed it to Krillin. "You've received a page from Ms. Briefs. It only just came across even though it looks like it was sent hours ago."

"Why the delay?" prompted Krillin, his fingers tight on the paper. The young man shrugged. "It happens all the time, all sorts of things can interfere with the satellite…Sorry it didn't come in sooner, I got it to you as quick as I could."

"No problem," Krillin smiled at the boy, "Thanks for bringing it down." The assistant nodded and headed back down the hall to the lab. A tendril of unease curled through Krillin's stomach as he unfolded the paper and read Bulma's cryptic message. _"Let's make it 12 hours. I don't like this place. Bulma."_

Krillin hurried back to where Piccolo floated several feet above the ground, legs crossed Indian style, eyes closed, peace emanating from him. Before he had a chance to speak, Piccolo's gravelly voice broke the silence.

"When do we leave?"

"Now, would be good. I think it takes a couple hours of flight time to get there."

"Did she give us anything specific?" The Namek asked as he stretched and bloomed from his tightly held form, his feet reached for the ground and his cape fell in an endless, heavy drape. His eyes were worried, in the calm of his face as he sought the small warrior. Krillin shook his head in the negative. "Just that she 'didn't like' the place." He allowed himself a small grin, at Piccolo's incredulous response.

"_WHAT!" _She's with _GOHAN_ for Kami's sake! What could possibly happen that he couldn't handle?" Sneered Piccolo arrogantly. Having spent many years refining Gohan's boundless abilities, he could not _conceive _of a challenge that his protégé could not meet.

"I have no idea." Krillin replied flatly. "But most of the twelve hours she requested is up, and they aren't back, and haven't been in contact."

"Unless there's been another delay." Piccolo's statement reminded Krillin of just how sensitive the Namek's hearing was. He frowned. It was possible of course, that there had been a later transmission that they hadn't received yet…

"Either way, we need to go. If we get there and everything is fine, cool. But if we wait for another page that never comes, it might be too late to help." Piccolo nodded his agreement with the Human's logic.

"What did she tell you about the last locale?"

Krillin thought for a moment, wrinkling his burned brow, "Not a lot. General location, that it's inhabited…I'm gonna check with that technician, she has to have a detailed research file." He paused a few feet away from Piccolo, and asked, "Should we tell Vegeta?"

The Namek snorted a laugh. "Which frightens you more? Interrupting Vegeta's training for what is most likely nothing, or telling Bulma you ruined His Majesties' birthday surprise?" A shudder ran the short length of Krillin's body. "Oh-Kay. I'll just go get that research file and we can leave." he walked away.

"You do that." smiled Piccolo at his retreating figure. As Krillin's quickened footsteps echoed down the hall, the Namek's superior ears picked up the muttered words of the Human. "You left out facing Vegeta's wrath if something has happened to Bulma and we didn't tell him."

The smile, left Piccolo's face completely.

_Somewhere on the Crescent Island_

"Brother? What are you doing? Mav gave specific orders--"

The older brother (who was older only by minutes) paused in his efforts and glanced sideways at his younger, more impressionable brother, before answering. "I see no reason for the body to go to waste. Mav will have her trophy, and we will feast, truly." He hefted his blade in one hand, light glinting off the slightly curved and crudely sharp edge. He twisted the blue silk of Bulma's hair around his arm repeatedly, until it drew her head up, the shimmering length taut between hand and head. The knife flashed down in an arc familiar to his muscles from long use, and severed the hair from her head in a single, nearly silent swipe.

His younger brother swayed at the insurrection. His voice came out a dry, harsh whisper. "For this blasphemy brother, I fear Mav will have _our _heads." His brother snorted and struggled to secure the hair with a leathered sinew strap. The lengths of hair curled up on themselves and around his fists like writhing snakes. He stood there, panting in the heat, a huge, warrior of a man, with a handful of blue hair that seemed to have a vengeful life of its own.A tiny drop of fear rose from his superstitious belly to leave a bitter taste in the back of his mouth. He grunted and thrust the mass at his little brother who fumbled to keep it from touching his body, as though it were dangerous.

"Take that to La'el, tell her to weave it into Mav's headdress for tonight. I'm going to check on the fire pit…I think if we offer Queen Mav the sweetest of meats, in her honor, it will improve her mood.

"I hope you are right brother. Else you have killed us both."


	8. Oh Gohan and the Queen

Author's Note: Well. This chapter went from 3 lousy pages, to 9. And I can't tell you how many man hours have gone into this. My husband is becoming suspect…lol (Just kidding, he knows and supports my obsession with the Saiyans and their numerous causes.)

Happy Birthday Vegeta

Of Gohan and the Queen Chapter Eight

The Queen eyed her tasty new captive warily, keeping, for the moment, several yards of empty space between them. Gohan stood tall, dark and whip lean, and through sheer force of will, the trembling of his body was hidden. On the surface he looked calm, but beneath the skin, deep within, his cells worked overtime to metabolize the chemical inundating his system, making him weak. Soon, very, very soon, he would manage a clear thought. Who knew what would follow.

Mav suspected, he was simply unable to coordinate movement. Only the Gods knew why he wasn't lying stone deadon the floor. _Six_ darts would have killed even the largest of the local beasts. In fact, her people had never had cause to use more than three while hunting. Her purple eyes intrigued, gleamed with the thrill of a handsome, unusual challenge that would ultimately be her slave.

Gohan was hardly in his best form, being massively poisoned and potentially lethally distracted by his worry for Bulma, but unless there were hidden variables, (and there always were) Queen Mav, was no threat to him, though the look in her eye said she considered herself otherwise.

He smiled, releasing the weapon with great care, a small, shy curve of his mouth, a hint of white teeth, as he drew on his energy. Testing, prodding, maintaining the harmless, innocent look even as he realized that he _**still**_ had no power other than that of his well trained body. Which was, just at the moment, unresponsive. Kuso!

The sweet light shining in dark angelic eyes made her breath catch, and Mav was hooked. She moved, a doomed moth, towards his light. Her movement was all sensual female intent, tilted eyes blinked slowly at him, blinded by the Son trademark smile. Her scent, the green of thriving plants and earthen musk reminiscent of the jungle she lived in, teased his senses and gained her the full attention of the Demi-Saiyan. She watched the shift of something in his eyes, something, predatory, peering out of the darkness, a thing that hunted. Her smile turned feral. She hunted as well.

She kept her eyes trained on his, they hinted at such things…as she had never seen and she didn't want to chance missing a single instant. Her breasts crushed against the unforgiving wall of chest as she pressed her body to his, one hand snaked into the crisp hair at the base of his neck, pulling his head near to hers. Gohan found his breath trapped somewhere…else… he was paralyzed, unable to breathe despite the thunderous effort of his heart and lungs. She angled her head and spoke, her voice hot in his ear, the nubile length of her body hot against his, "I think, it is only fair that you pick up where I was so rudely interrupted." She nibbled his earlobe and was satisfied with the shiver that took him. Pleasure streaked from the searing spot where her lips had touched, to his very soul.

He swallowed thickly, drawing her attention to the throbbing at the base of his throat, which she tasted, catlike, with tiny flicks of her tongue. Each moist stroke sent electricity jolting through his system and part of him wondered dimly if it could be channeled. The lids of her eyes drooped closed as she hummed her pleasure against him, enjoying the salty flavor of taut, worried skin.

He moaned as his lungs finally saw fit to allow him oxygen, saturated as it was, with the Queen's need, it short circuited any thought that dared to be about anything other than pleasing Mav, thoroughly, roughly. He blinked, stunned by the pornographic images that emerged from the depths of his mind. _'Where the hell did that come from?' _A hard edged smirk curved his mouth as he realized that _Son Gohan DIDN'T _know those things. But _he_ sure as hell did. Holy Hell. If the repertoire dancing behind his half lidded eyes was any indication, he had a thousand years of s_aiyan sexual experience_ at his unbelievably lucky fingertips.

An anticipatory grin parted his lips and lust glinted in his eyes as Mav's nimble fingers worked the buttons of his shirt, pushing aside the woven fabric revealing a sun-kissed warrior's musculature. "Oh my." Her voice softened in appreciation of each pectoral and abdominal muscle individually, personally sculpted through rigorous training. She looked up, Gohan saw her eyes were like dark violets, shimmering with an iridescent heat that was for him. He narrowed his eyes in annoyance as she nudged him towards her sleeping area, backing him awkwardly across the room.

Still uncoordinated, he stumbled, and caught himself, his labored breathing caused the tan muscle of his stomach to ripple sinuously, and Mav, found her mouth suddenly dry as she watched her hapless, half-dressed prey and wanted to devour him. She wet her lips with a flash of pink tongue, and grabbed the open sides of his shirt holding him captive as she slid closer to him. Skin, perilously close to skin, for a breathless eternity, then contact. They gasped together as heat rolled off their bodies where flesh scorched flesh.

She growled, a low sound that struck his body like a tuning fork, and woke something terrible, in Gohan, that hissed air into its lungs in ragged gasps and growled an appropriate response to her. His mouth hung partially open, his eyes glittered goldly and Mav squeaked in pain as his fingers clenched bruisingly on her hips, grinding her against his generous, denim clad erection.

He bent his head to the vulnerable arch of her exposed throat, scented her blood like an animal. The knowledge that it pulsed just beneath his mouth in a hot, sweet, fountain pushed him, to the very edge. He could feel the rapid pump of it against his lips, _thump, thump, thump,_ he could taste the metallic zing of it, his entire body shook violently.

S_he was His…to Own…or Fuck…or Kill. _And she had thought him defenseless. A dark chuckle built within him, and he let it rasp out against the skin of her neck.

She mistook the leashed tension of impossible control, for passion, and writhed against him a slender, live wire. Her hands buried themselves in his hair, tugging frantically, pulling that sinful mouth to hers, devouring as she had wanted earlier, being devoured as never, before. Her mind splintered as he possessed her mouth with a mad intensity. Her eyes fluttered, and widened in shock when she saw flashes of lightening ruffling the shiny, ebony of his hair. Her cry of alarm was muffled by the continuing kiss. Gohan's eyes opened lazily and he smiled when her abused mouth fell slack. For an instant, his eyes were the color of the ocean on a summer day, lit from within by the same electricity snapping around his head. Then it was gone.

Black eyes blazed no less brightly, feverishly, as he brought a hand up between them to snap her mouth shut.

"Bit off more than you can chew, Mav?" He hardly recognized the hard gravel of his own voice. The same hand tweaked her breast before coming to rest on the gentle curve of her waist, where he toyed with the thin gold chain that encircled her…lucky, lucky scrap of metal. Her traitor body thrilled at the rough caress, and tightened in a pretty request for more, which he pointedly ignored. She tried to gather mind blown thoughts, to bolster caution, to force a string of words past her swollen lips, and barely succeeded in stuttering, "Who? _What_? Are you ?"

He couldn't stop the flash of what he knew was an awful grin, the Son smile gone horribly awry, any more than he could stop the continuous growl that rumbled from his chest, a low, seductive vibe he knew made its way through her body, because her pleasured quivering echoed through his.

She shivered helplessly as he ravaged his way down her throat, sharp canines bruised and scraped but never drew blood. The translucent skin stretched thinly across her collarbone tasted of sun and salt and wind. He nuzzled his way to the curve of her breast, took one pouting nipple into his mouth, and bit bluntly, using his teeth to draw a shuddering gasp from Mav. Then he spoke, forming the torment of words with lips and mouth and tongue, around her sensitized flesh.

"What I am, won't mean anything to you. But I am-" he paused, equitably moving his attention to the other pert, demanding breast. Strong hands slid up the slight expanse of her back, holding her torso captive to his skilled lips and talented tongue.

"Not entirely human."

Air filled his nose and lungs, thick with the rich scent of his heat and the many lusts of the Queen. Every thought she had about him, the fear, hate and all consuming heat, had correlating fragrances in his brain. Incredible desire and nameless needs crowded his head, in unequivocable demand. Wicked laughter rumbled out over the trembling mounds of her breasts and Kami help him, he didn't know which amused him more, her shock, or her the strength of her arousal _despite_ the shock.

"Mav, I think you _like _that I'm… different. You _smell_…delicious." He licked his lips unconsciously. "More than a little bit afraid, and incredibly…_needy_." His voice grated over her, promising that every need would be assuaged.

Her face was a angry reflection of the very things he said, bitter panic swirled with a hollow, desperate ache unlike anything she'd ever known….he knew it, and she hated him for it. His eyes glinted with that unholy desire and his mouth watered in anticipation of the sharp, sweet taste of her fear.

"Don't be afraid, Mav," he brushed her tender mouth with his, "I won't eat you all up," he smirked and proceeded to consume her, beginning with her mouth. His amusement was the final aggravating straw. _She was the Queen! _She would _not_ be toyed with! She wrenched away from his kiss, with a righteous scream. Mav shoved against him with her hands and feet in an attempt to break his hold on her, but his fingers never slipped, he just absorbed the impact! She might as well have thrown herself against a wall for all the effect it had. Truly infuriated, she struggled with the entirety of her lithe body, she bent and stomped, and finally succeeded in getting turned around in his grasp so she was facing away from his stupid smirk. Enraged she slammed her elbow back packing the weight of her whole furious being into the strike, and heard his sharp, pained gasp. With a snort she wriggled from his lax fingers. _'Stupid boy.' _Thought to make a toy of her. She turned to look at him, the satisfaction on her narrow features, melting into slack-jawed shock.

"Fuck!" He gasped as her futile struggle ignited a strange and terrifying need to chase and subdue in him. He _wanted _her to run, for the sheer desperate j_oy _of chasing her down and tearing her apart with his fucking teeth, seeing her blood spatter from his assault. He would show her what it meant _to hunt_.

At that precise moment, energy roared over him in an unstoppable flood, black eyes flashed teal, his muscles forced into rigidity, he panted and trembled trying in vain to control the sudden deluge. "AAAgggghhh! _Kami_!" It crashed against him in deep, unavoidable waves that swirled and tugged at his legs, trying to undermine his footing and drag him under.

'What is it about the beast that makes a woman's knees weak?' Mav watched, amethyst eyes awed, as he battled with himself, her fear gone in the face of his tremendous conflict. She undid the button at his waist and slid his pants down. She eased him back on her bed and straddled his hips like some primitive goddess.

"Oh, my." This time the admiration in her tone was thick with desire. He heard both, smelled both, tasted both on his tongue, and thought the overload might kill him, hell it might kill them both if the power he fought against was any indication.

Thought ceased when she joined their bodies in an easy glide of tight, wet, heat, that encased him, changed him, forever. She moaned, a low sound of fulfillment, and shifted her hips, to allow her body to fully accommodate his size. Pleasure spread simultaneously through their bodies like wildfire, insatiable. He was, _remarkable,_ trapped beneath her, the muscles of his stomach bunching as he rose to meet her body, he stirred a frenzy of desire and anger and danger with each total invasion. There was a arctic glint in those crystalline eyes, however, that told her, there would be no repeat. This was a one time ride.

She raised herself, only to have his fingers tighten aggressively, possessively on her hips, and hold her in place as he slammed his length into her, knocking the breath from her lungs. His smirk was male and crude. That breathless, broken cry was exactly what he wanted to hear, again and again. He intended to give Mav what she wanted, in spades. He watched intently as violet eyes hazed with pleasure before closing. He watched as her lithe torso arched and swayed above him like a willow branch in a summer storm. She rode him, blissfully unaware of the energy brewing, of the ongoing struggle to contain, and inevitably, he slipped.

They moved in perfect sync in the final frenetic moment. Mav ground herself against him and power burst as if from behind a dam, exploding within her, as he did. Their orgasm ripped hoarse cries of release from them, bathing their bodies in the oscillating, golden glow of the SuperSaiyan. Mav recoiled with an agonized scream as fire seared through every cell in her body instantaneously, and then returned to its' source. She collapsed in blissful unconsciousness atop Son Gohan's heaving chest, but he, was not to have such an easy out.

The tidal wave crashed down, down, down leaving him helplessly convulsed as it pounded, raged through him with the demon force of a howling tornado, sneering and smashing his self-imposed boundaries like matchsticks. _"NNNNNNOOOOOOOOO! NO No!No!No!No." _He choked back angry, exhausted tears of frustration, he'd fought too long and too hard for it to be like this! Every fucking training session, every confrontation, even during the battle with Cell, he kept it beaten down, buried so deeply that he'd forgotten it was his. Stripped it from his mind so he would never, ever, recall the invincibility, the intoxicating high that came with that kind of power.

He'd been so young, preschool really, when he'd sealed Garlic Jr in a rift between the worlds. His father, thinking him unconscious after the trial, told him how proud he was, but that he didn't think Gohan's mother could handle the information. He hadn't wanted to frighten her. What son wants their mother to fear them? It was then, that he knew the truth, that _no, one, single, person should have the kind of power he did._ A tender age to realize he was a monster. No different than the slime he had trapped in the dead zone.

Unfathomable terror swamped him now as it had then, and he could do nothing, NOTHING, but quake and cry as his Demi-Saiyan body sang the glory of the power of a super nova.

Power blasted through the cabin of their jet, causing it to rock and shake and rattle. Krillin and Piccolo looked at one another, a thread of real alarm binding them together. Krillin arched his brow, and Piccolo replied, "I don't know," with a shrug. But he wasn't entirely certain, that it hadn't been Gohan.

Gohan groaned under the strain, it took fucking ages, for the power to recede, for his transformation to reverse, blond hair going black and soaked with sweat, his body boneless with fatigue. He waited only a few minutes for his breathing to become normal before trying to move. He left the unconscious Queen sprawled on her bed, righted his clothes and stumbled from the room without a backward glance. Wearily he scanned his surroundings for ki signatures and was frustrated by finding the same barest indications of life. His fatigue almost caused him to miss the blue smudge of energy. He very nearly couldn't muster the strength to work the signal. His mind and body were barren like ground zero at a blast site. He forced himself to focus, sharpened his mental image of the scientist, the sound of her laugh, a glimpse of her smile, and compared it to the blue glimmer, in the space of a single heartbeat. He was certain, she was still alive. There was still a reason to fight. There was just no way he could.

He stepped into the dusk, and by the grace of some God or another, he spied one of the twin guards, carrying something that might have been Bulma. Shaped right, dressed right, but her hair…long gone. He found, rather suddenly, a well of frigid anger that allowed him to move in front of the guard for a closer inspection. His breath lodged in his lungs, and his heart constricted, "Oh, Kami. It _is _Bulma." While horror and denial churned in his stomach, the guard finally recognized him. "Hey! What are you doing out here? Where's Queen Mav? If you've harmed her you will _die_--" His mouth thinned in a flat, frightening line and eyes completely devoid of life, Gohan struck like forked lightening, fast and hot and with devastating impact. His fist sliced into the guard's chest through the protective cage of bone and cartilage like it was warm wax and returned with wet squelch and a useless organ pumping steadily in his trembling hand.

Gaping, astonished at the hole in his chest, the guard staggered. Piccolo moved in to take Bulma's limp form from the deceased man's arms as he sank to his knees in front of the overwrought Saiyan. Gohan effortlessly planted his foot in the guard's shocked face, and he flew backwards to die in a shallow pit.

"Heartless bastard." Gohan growled and tossed the oozing heart beside the dead man. He turned to the carefully blank face of his mentor and the shocked face of one of his best friends, and couldn't manage to replace his veneer of civility to save his life. It wasn't worth the effort.

He looked at Piccolo, hope shadowing otherwise vacant eyes. "You can't fly by any chance?"

"That's a negative, Gohan Buddy." Krillin's voice was familiar and soothing.

"Then we have to get to the beach, so we have space for the capsule jet. It's in Bulma's pocket, along with the dragonball. Nice timing by the way." He turned and silently led the party back to the beach.

O.o too much? Nah. Never. I love Son Gohan. : D


	9. Homeward Bound

Author's Note: Thanks Everyone! For your continued reviews! This, is very different from the first go-around, but I think I'd always felt Gohan had been too human in his response to his situation for someone who was supposed to be going through puberty. Ah well. What do _you_ think? RavenDi

Happy Birthday Vegeta

Chapter Nine: Homeward Bound

They came out of the darkened jungle, Gohan blinked as the silhouette of a second capsule jet became visible on the beach in front of him. He growled at his stupidity and stalked past it. He crouched beside the rhythmically lapping water and rinsed the worst of thickening blood from his fingers, watching in fascination as it ran from his hands in sanguine rivulets staining the ocean with tiny clouds of red that were instantly dissolved, absolved. He snorted at his delusion, and boarded the jet.

Gohan paced the narrow corridor, a bloody lion after the nights' feeding, a caged animal, fed and malcontent, with a scowl furrowing his brow, and his arms crossed tightly across his chest. With a frustrated sigh, he chose a seat at the rear of the plane, well away from the others, quiet, dim. He sank into a leather captain's chair, let his head fall heavily onto the headrest, stiffly stretched his legs out in front of him and tried not to think. He couldn't even _stand_ to think about it, until he knew Bulma was going to be all right. He nearly groaned aloud as he felt Piccolo take the seat next to him.

Piccolo secured Bulma in one of the fold-out bunks and as far as he could see, she was sleeping, deeply. She was dirty, and her hair had been forcibly shortened, but she was alive and well. There was only one person who could explain what had happened, but Piccolo didn't like the odds of getting anything useful from his pupil just yet. He had to try though, Gohan tended to assume responsibilities that were not his alone.

He moved quietly to the back of the plane and took the seat next to Son Gohan who was trying to relax and failing miserably. Barely leashed tension slashed around him in clear-cut barbed-wire barriers of "leave-me-the-fuck-alone." The Namek only smirked, impervious to the boy's moods after years of training, even if this was more extreme than most.

"Hostile natives, huh?" Came the quietly teasing voice of his Sensei.

There was a heartbeat of silence in which Piccolo thought he wouldn't reply at all.

"There are different types of hostility." Gohan said, moving his body as little as he possibly could. The clash of fatigue and adrenaline was driving him mad, his body twitchy, moody. He was trapped on the razor's edge between decorum and destruction, and Piccolo didn't deserve to be attacked, but Gohan didn't give a good goddamn. If he chose to ignore the warning he was blaring, _too damn bad._

"Like the one you're exhibiting now?"

"Maybe," he gritted his teeth and growled lowly in an effort to keep from ripping Piccolo apart, "I'd like to be left, alone."

"I'd just like to know what happened." The Namek replied blithely.

Gohan's animalistic grumble grew louder, insistent, as he tapped into his power and drew a tiny, intense sphere of ki to the tip of his finger. His relief at being able to do so was a tangible thing that sent a shiver through his overwhelmed physique. He pointed the visibly throbbing ball at Piccolo without even lifting his head to look at him.

"Let it go." He rasped bluntly.

Piccolo marveled at both the threat and the restraint. "You know I can't do that. I need to know what the hell happened to piss you off, and I need to know what happened to Bulma-san. Someone is going to have to explain it to the medics, and Vegeta."

A tremor shook Gohan at Piccolo's careless mention of the Prince. "Fuck." He spat, and let the ki disperse. Aggression seethed through him, flexing his fingers with lethal intention around the armrests of his seat, bending them to his will with an audible metal-wrenching sound. He shoved down the overwhelming urge to wrap those fingers around his mentors' green neck and end the interrogation forcefully. He evaded both his blood rage and the recent events that Piccolo was trying to rend from him with a desperate challenge. "What happened when you went to retrieve the fifth ball?" Silence swung, heavily charged between them, then with a sigh, Piccolo decided barter would have to suffice in this situation.

"The person holding the fifth ball, was an 'old friend' of Kami's. She wants to renew their acquaintance, and so does Kami."

"But, I thought Kami died when the two of you fused." Gohan's reply was shocked, and for the moment, he was genuinely distracted from his own difficulties. The Namek gave himself a mental nod of satisfaction.

"Not exactly. His… consciousness is still very much there, she had no trouble at all reaching him…through me." Piccolo's voice was subdued as he recalled a not unpleasant kiss.

"I thought Namek's were asexual?" retorted Gohan with a hint of his usual humor.

Piccolo snorted. "We choose to reproduce asexually, for a number of reasons, most of them safety related. Namekian sex, for non-procreative purposes is fairly similar to human sex, just less, constrained."

Gohan trembled in silent angst as his first sexual encounter erupted in his mind, in full, painfully graphic color, guilt-laden and horrific in a thousand different ways. 'Fuck.Fuck.Fuck.' A whimper nearly escaped his closing throat. There wasn't a fucking thing about the whole damned experience that had been _anywhere near _'normal.' It was obviously going to be his _only _experience since there was no way he would ever take that kind of risk again, certainly not with someone he actually cared about. For a millisecond there was an image of another girl, and defensively he repelled it so far away, so fast, he could, almost, pretend he hadn't seen it.

The sudden _ache _emanating from his adopted son made Piccolo all the more determined to get to the bottom of this matter, by whatever means necessary. "_Now_, tell me what happened on that island."

Son Gohan wanted nothing more than to yank out Piccolo's impervious tongue and choke him with it. He had no right, to push in this matter. NONE! But since he apparently was unwilling to kill the stupid Namek, he would have to deal. Scowling fiercely, he shielded the information he didn't want his extremely skilled Sensei to discern before attempting to speak.

"I've never been _completely_ without my ki before." His voice was a grudging husk. "I think, whatever it was that suppressed my ki, suppressed the signatures of everything else as well." Gohan kept his description succinct. "The _natives_, were fast, and silent, and have one _hell_ of a poison dart. The effect, is instant." Vividly he recalled Bulma crumpling bonelessly into the waiting arms of her attacker.

The Namek waited patiently as Gohan gathered his thoughts. "I believe that's why Bulma is still out -- Kami I hope so -- I, she got more than one dose, and she's only human." He grimaced bitterly, knowing his voice was giving him away to his long-time friend. Telling tales of vulnerability and an awakening dragon of anger. He continued, hesitantly. "It's effect on me, would probably have been nominal, if it had just been one dose. I heard the guard say more than once, that he'd used all six of his darts." A wry smile curved his face. "He wasn't sure it would be enough."

"He was right to be concerned." Piccolo murmured.

Gohan flicked a flat stare in his teacher's direction. He didn't bother to acknowledge the attempt to reassure him. "They should have killed us on sight." He snorted in disrespect. "Instead, they decided to give us to the Queen." He was proud, that the quiver he felt when he spoke of her, was not conveyed in his speech. He sounded neither appalled nor aroused. Just factual. He sighed. "I thought I might could negotiate with her... Bulma couldn't even stand, she was semi-conscious, and…the Queen, fell in love with her hair." His voice cracked, betraying his strain, "The color, you know? It's pretty amazing." He took a deep breath, lined up his next thoughts and censored them ruthlessly.

"She ordered the guards…" he swallowed, "…to cut off Bulma's head, and bring her the hair." Furious, slightly mad laughter bubbled within his throat. "The _only_ reason Bulma's alive is because the guard disobeyed a direct order." His tone shook with disgust. In truth, he was _deeply _disturbed by both his failure to protect the Prince's mate, _and _the guard that defied his orders…. When he spoke again, the words sprang straight from the lips of the man who'd killed with his bare hands a few hours ago. Hollow, dead, ice.

"Don't, get the idea he was a good guy…he just wanted to _keep_ her. I _overheard _them discuss _keeping_ her _for themselves_." The laughter bubbled and burst and gave way to dangerous fury, at the thought of what they _would_ have done to Bulma-san given the chance. He had no idea where the recent feelings of responsibility for Bulma had come from, but the magnitude of his inadequacy was a slow diseased dying of his insides.

"Well, I'd say you put a rather, emphatic, stop to that." Piccolo mentioned delicately.

The Demi-Saiyan glanced at his hands in the dark and while he knew they were clean, he felt the weight of the dried crimson on his hands, it's acrid scent strong and reassuring in his nose. He snorted flatly. "I only wish I'd gotten the other one."

Piccolo nodded his unspoken acceptance of Gohan's choice. "Go on. Were you able to negotiate with the Queen?"

His innocuous question had Son Gohan's entire body strumming with that incredibly violent tension again, but there was a wall of static-like interference preventing him from determining the true cause.

"In a manner of speaking." His voice was as carefully guarded as his thoughts. Piccolo inclined his head toward Gohan, an unseen gesture of encouragement. Gohan drew a short, harsh breath and launched himself from the chair that could no longer contain him. He strode back and forth in renewed agitation, black eyes volatile. "I slept with her."

"What?" It was the Namek's turn to be shocked. Ironic that watching him rip the heart from the chest of his enemy didn't faze him, but the thought of the painfully _shy_ Son using _intimacy_ as a weapon, seemed, _extremely_ unlikely and somehow, excruciating.

"You, slept…with her." The motion of Gohan nodding, was nearly imperceptible in the dim cabin light.

"_Those_ were her terms?" The Namek prompted bemused.

"Oh yes. Those were definitely _her_ terms." Gohan's quick, crude smirk lit the cabin and a hint of pleased masculinity drawled through his response.

"And then, she let the both of you walk away?" Piccolo prodded.

He hissed an angry warning to the Namek. "No. It rendered her - _unconscious_."

"Ah." With a gasp, Piccolo connected the power surge that had rocked the capsule jet off course, to Gohan's situation. "I suppose it did. That WAS you then?" Gohan continued to prowl and his energy swamped the tiny room causing it to quake as it had before.

"Wait. I thought you didn't have access to your power?" The Namek could tell by the tremendous spike in his pupil's ki, that he was putting his life in danger with this line of questioning, though he couldn't figure out why, of all the crap Gohan had been through, the lack of his ki would bother him so.

"_I - did - not_!" He shouted, and the words jarred painfully in Piccolo's sensitive ears. His dark eyes shot indignant flames at his Sensei before he looked away, whispering acidly, "Not _before_, not _during_, and not _controllably_, after." The admission terrified him and his breath caught as he awaited his teacher's reaction. He bristled defensively half expecting an attack, an attempt to neutralize him before he got to the more populated areas of the city.

Piccolo pondered the deliberate wording and the scope of the power fluctuation that had occurred. He concluded, that the crux of the matter, was Son Gohan's loss of control. It happened to everyone, but Gohan was inordinately proud of his. Control that is. In his relief, he let a quiet laugh slip from his lips. "Try and get some rest Gohan, we can talk more of this later."

Son Gohan spluttered furiously. "I tell you I fucked this woman literally senseless, had NO control over the resulting energy, AND YOU TELL ME TO 'GET SOME REST'?" He swayed, disbelieving on his feet.

The Namek looked implacably at his pupil, stance aggressive, hands on his hips, mind racing fearfully, hatefully, behind those waiting eyes. Piccolo knew he was ready to defend himself, but against what? Him? He shook his head and frowned, dismayed that they were already so close to Capsule Corp. It would take a great deal longer than they had at this moment to sort out whatever the hell Gohan was thinking. He sighed and spoke gently. "Yes, rest. You, were injured as well, Gohan. I'm not saying this doesn't bear further discussion, but there are other issues to deal with, Bulma's heath, your own, the dragonballs. Now is not the time."

"Fuck me." He backed slowly into his mangled seat, leaning his head back, letting his eyes droop closed. "What you think won't matter anyway, not when Vegeta-sama finds out." Son Gohan whisped to his mentor.

"Perhaps." The Namek acknowledged that Vegeta was a wild card in the best of situations, and that this, was not, the best of situations.


	10. Aftermath

Author's Note: Funny. I had a hard time with this chapter. Kept wanting to leave it out. Or maybe, I was just being lazy. : ) Hope you enjoy.

Happy Birthday Vegeta

Chapter Ten: Aftermath

Bulma woke, an easy surfacing of awareness. Snugly tucked into a bed in the medical wing of Capsule Corp, she got the strangest flood of relief that she recognized her surroundings. _Bad_ that she was in the medical wing, but unreasonably happy that she was home. Closely following the relief, was the knowledge that she wasn't alone in her bed. _Curious and curiouser…_ Shifting her head she saw Son Gohan, sleeping soundly, looking so much like his father, that hot tears spilled and burnt damp trails to the pillow beneath them. She knew the sudden storm of emotion was unlike her, but she rarely indulged in its expression anymore. Useless things, tears. With a whimper she rested her head upon Gohan's and grieved for a loss that still plagued her when she least expected it.

Sniffling quietly, careful not to wake the snoozing demi-saiyan, she pushed herself to an upright position and gasped when every major muscle group protested. Confusion set heavily on her brow, as she tried to figure why she and Gohan were in the same bed, and why she felt like hell…_Kami don't let them be related reasons_… She started with a yelp as someone cleared their throat from within the darkness edging the room.

"Bulma?"

"Piccolo?" She searched the room, fully expecting Krillin and Yamcha to be waiting in the shadows, but disappointed by their lack of presence. She blinked bleary-eyed at the Namek who approached her bed, arms crossed, face grim, hugely intimidating, if not for the fact that she slept beside Son Gohan, the one person guaranteed to be able to reason with him.

The Namek glanced at the sleeping Son beside her, and his dark, usually inscrutable eyes, flickered with a number of emotions, what might have been regret, tenderness, sympathy? But, she _was_ in the med-bay, and it's entirely possible that she took a crack on the skull and was dreaming the whole scenario. Course, if it were _her _dream, it wouldn't be Piccolo standing in front of her, or Gohan in her bed. Damn. She sighed.

Piccolo turned his suddenly expressive eyes on her and said, "He insisted, on the same bed. Not good enough being in the same room, No. We couldn't pry him from your side." He sounded, exasperated, but, indulgent. This sensitivity from the demon-born Namek, frankly, gave her the creeps.

"What exactly do you remember?" he questioned gently, with a small smile.

Dread churned a slow freeze in her stomach, and she swallowed past the knot in her throat, whose sole intention was to keep her from speaking, she _wasn't_ _ready yet_….but for what, she had no idea.

She leaned back against the pillows and cast about for her recent memories. Her mouth trembled when they didn't march up in chronological order upon her demand. Fuzzy, _bad _feelings of absolutely, conspicuously, _nothing_ were what she had. She frowned at Piccolo, and then realized she _remembered_ _him_. "I remember _you_…Gohan, Goku…" ? Her voice trailed weakly off. The Namek kept his face still as the implications of her words rolled over him. Explaining an amnesiac Bulma to an angry Vegeta, was not his idea of a healthy pastime.

With a light breath, he replied, "As good a place to start as any. Do you remember what we were doing?" After a moment, she shook her head, a tight, tiny negative motion. "What about the Dragonballs?" he baited the line and waited for her response.

"Oh!" her breath caught as images undulated through the inky emptiness of her short term memory. "We found the last Dragonball! It's in a micro-capsule in my pocket--" she broke off as the rest of her reluctant recall trickled into full blown being. The last memories to congeal, were the ones of her telling Gohan that nothing was going to happen to them, and then black, stinging unconsciousness. Vague impressions of being tied up, helpless, nauseous and _threatened_ roared from the hazy blackness in the back of her mind. Salty tears slid unchecked down pale cheeks.

"Oh God Piccolo! They were gonna cut off my head!" The scream that emerged was wordless and shrill, a small, hurt animal sound. She wrapped her arms around herself and rocked, and between sobs, she spoke brokenly.

"I…didn't see much….but I _heard_ everything. The man carrying me wanted to keep me from the…Queen….and that…_horrible woman _wanted my hair!" Blank, blue orbs grew wide with disbelieving horror, frantic fingers flew to her head, and she began to shake violently, as they found short uneven lengths of hair. "Oh God!"

The desperation in her cry pierced Gohan's slumber, sharp quills tasseled with blue bird feathers, that for some reason made him furious. Shocked awake and vertical, he found himself in bed with a hysterical Bulma. Her tears were ragged and gasping, her body quaked it's vulnerability to him, and he was crushed by it. There was no way her present state was not his fault. She had trusted him to protect, and he had **_failed_**. He drew away, mortified, he had no business being anywhere near her. And yet, responsible as he was for every second of her agony, he could not move away. He wrapped the shelter of his arms around her and folded her trembling form against his, trying to restore some semblance of safety to her world. She melted against him and sobbed. He forced back tears of his own. "I'm so sorry Bulma, that I let you down…so sorry you had to go through that." His voice ached and broke with the sheer depth of his regret. He held her, absorbing her terror, assuming her grief, until the tears and trembling became, at least, controllable. Bulma looked at Gohan disoriented, her eyes red rimmed and her face chalky. "How long have we been gone?" She rasped.

"Not as long as it seems. Less than 24 hours," he hesitated, "you've been unconscious most of it." She touched the back of her neck where the blank sensation had begun, and shivered.

Gohan caught Piccolo's eye, and with a tilt of his dark hair, motioned for him to leave. The Namek nodded, accepting that they needed to work through this together, and silently withdrew his presence from the room. As his Sensei's ki faded, Gohan continued his explanation.

"I'm pretty sure you got more than one dose of their poison dart, and...I think being half-Saiyan helped me metabolize it a lot quicker than you." He moistened his lips nervously. "The doctor gave you a clean bill of health, physically." A quiet snort came from Bulma. "But?"

"But" he took a deep breath, "You're gonna be groggy until the poison is completely out of your system, and you may be…emotional…about the whole thing, for an 'indeterminate' amount of time."

Bulma slid back down on the distressed bed linens, and drew her knees up. She let her head drop slowly forward, as though it was unbearably heavy, and rubbed her face on the thin cotton blanket, drawing comfort from the faint familiar scents of lemon, bleach and starch. A tremulous sigh escaped as her fingers worried the short wisps of hair at the back of her neck. "I feel so fucking…vulnerable." she said without lifting her head.

Son Gohan trembled as he knelt beside her on the bed, aching and angry and helpless _again_. It was becoming a bore. "Bulma. Look at me." he ordered brusquely. She turned to him, and found his usually bright eyes weighted with unshed tears, dull with unresolved emotions that mimicked hers very closely. What he _meant_ to tell her, was that he would never be caught so off guard again, that he would never fail her (or the Prince) again. What loosed itself from the slimy tangle within his chest and slipped between his unsuspecting lips, was, "Me too, Bulma, me too."

Compassion bloomed in the blue shadows of her eyes. "You were so concerned about not having your ki _before_ they took us…how the hell did you get us out Gohan? I don't remember _anything_." The last words rang with her frustration.

Her compassion, as undeserving as it was, unleashed a tsunami of guilt that hammered at him trying to smash him apart leaving unrecognizable fragments of Gohan in the foamy surf.

He nearly strangled on his reply, so reluctant were his words to lie. "I found one of the men," his voice hardened with the memory, "..carrying you, don't know to where, I didn't ask. I made sure he won't be getting back up." His tone was hollow, like the words. Empty of all but placating half-truths. He fought off the urge to be sick right there…purge himself of all that had happened. "I quite literally ran into Piccolo and Krillin in the jungle, we took the jet back here…end of story." Gohan remembered her words, and so did Bulma.

"I've got to get cleaned up and get home. I told Vegeta I had a two-day conference, but that I'd be home early if I could. Not that he seemed interested. His birthday is tomorrow then." she finished thoughtfully. It took longer to gather the Dragonballs than she had anticipated, and at more personal cost, but she had them.

Kami! She had a lot to do.

"Hand me the phone Gohan. I need a hairdresser….no scratch that. I need a miracle-worker." she smiled carefully as if testing her ability to do so. A very small part of Gohan's pain was relieved by the return of her humor.

"You could use the Dragonballs." he offered, and thrilled when she socked him in the arm hard enough to bruise anyone else. She looked deeply into his black eyes, still silvered with the shadows of all they had not talked about. "We made it…thank you." Gohan visibly flinched. "Don't. Don't thank me." he replied in that eerie lifeless voice. "Are we getting together for Vegeta's birthday?" he changed the subject.

"Of course, dinner tomorrow night…at our house." she laughed as if practicing the sound, and found it genuine. "I probly won't ever be able to get Vegeta to go out on his birthday ever again." Son Gohan grinned with her in remembrance of the Saiyan Prince in a Sombrero.

"Okay, I'll see you then, unless you need an escort home?" She considered it for a full minute before she decided to answer. "I think I'll be just fine Gohan, thanks to you."

"Hmmmm." He brushed her cheek with his lips, and left before she could see through him.

Next on Happy Birthday Vegeta…."Something Wicked This Way Comes…Vegeta!" maniacal laughter


	11. Something Wicked

Author's Note: I guess I'll have to start apologizing for the length of time the rewrite is demanding for each chapter. Originally this was a scant, vapid seven pages. I'm much happier with it now, but damn it takes ages to get it right. Thank You **All**, for sticking with me. Especially those of you who not only read but review consistently… Pitkat, Heiress, Warrior… Thanks Again.

Happy Birthday Vegeta

Chapter Eleven : Something Wicked This Way Comes….Vegeta!

Gohan was amazed, at the hostility that bloomed in him, a hateful red tide that surged when he spotted his childhood home from the air. The thought of being interrogated by his (bitch) of a well-meaning mother, or being followed Pied-Piper style by his irrepressibly cute younger brother caused him to snarl angrily and spawned graphic visions of pain-filled ways of shutting them up. With a sickly smile he thought it might be better if he avoided them altogether. He sneered, kicked on the afterburner and blew low over the roof. The sonic boom in his wake emptied every shelf in the house, sending knickknacks and foodstuffs flying, smashing dishes and rattling those heavy damn pans of hers.

He headed for his favorite retreat, reasonably certain that he would not be disturbed. Not one person knew about it, and anyone capable of tracking him…they would simply never find him. He'd learned to suppress his ki as well as the next monster. Maybe better.

He monitored the fluctuating energy of his place, clearing it for miles around before allowing himself to land. His mood was volatile, agitated when he finally set foot on the broad bank of the river. A scowl drew his brow tight, haunted black eyes scanned the vista that ordinarily brought him great pleasure.

White capped water laughed and sparkled as it crashed over boulders recklessly, joyfully changing the face of the Earth. Sunlight threw javelins of gold through thick foliage, heating the forest and warming the breeze that tickled his nose with sharp pine sap and ripe juniper berries. Sun and scented wind caressed the tension from his face. Fluttering bird wings, the rustling and grazing of small living things played a quiet symphony in his ears. Almost instantly his heartbeat slowed until it was just one more pulse in the natural rhythm of things. He marveled at the physical relief brought to him by this place, and he spoke quiet words of gratitude to the Gods as another fragment of his personal agony melted away.

He glanced at the boulders misted wet from the rapids where he often sat in the heat of the day, and opted for something less savage, and a little drier. He found himself a sunbeam in the space between wood and water, where trees tried to escape the forest by stretching roots and limbs into the sandy river banks. Here was purple lichen, glistening sand and warmth. Being well trained in the art, it took scarcely a moment to settle into a deep meditative state. His soft ebon hair and dark clothing absorbed the radiant sunshine until his whole body floated, weightless, thoughtless, a dust mote in a sun-invoked lassitude.

"So, Gohan." He began a conversation with himself. "Things to think about…the effects of temporarily losing my ki, losing my virginity, and Hey! Getting to know the Saiyan in me…" He quipped in his goofy announcers voice. "Well, maybe not in that order…Oh! Lets not forget nearly getting Bulma killed, or…does that go in the Loss of Virginity chapter?"

He levitated cross-legged in the manner of his sensei, blessedly detached from the chaos of the last several days. "Regardless, Son Gohan has been a very busy little boy--No, wait. The little boy ceased to be when Mav _growled_ at me. Really! What the hell was _that_ about?" He baked in the sun and reflected on the animal impulses she aroused with that low sound. It _had_ reverberated though him in an undeniable frisson of pleasure, triggering something most definitely Saiyan in him. But, if he was brutally honest, it hadn't been her growl that set him off. It had been her _scent_, rife with her desire and illusions of control that had infuriated him. Even now, a growl grumbled in his chest, anger seared his gut and flashed in a shower of red sparks behind his eyes.

The fool bitch had _ordered Bulma dead_, and _honestly_ thought she had control, of anything, let alone of _him ! _His fingers curled reflexively, he was _appalled_ by his need to smash her stupid skull with his hands! Oh….but she had _wanted_ him, the very thing she feared….she had _wanted. _To be _taken_ and _broken _and he had _obliged_.

He made a noise of disgust, jolted from his meditation, frustration exploding around him in a jagged red-gold aura. He stormed the woods and riverside in SuperSaiyan form trying desperately to burn the tangle of emotions from his body. He ran a length of his river, sending sheets of water hissing into the atmosphere. He followed the moisture high into the deepening sky until it evaporated, and then higher still, where the remaining oxygen was cold and thin. Then he let himself fall, a meteor, a single-minded streak, plunging to the Earth. With the friction of his descent sparking at the edges of his power and the wind an unholy howl in his ears, he waited until the very last possible second, before slowing his return. A demonstration of his skill, his control. A smirk flashed across his lips. He had drawn information necessary for his _survival_ from a part of his brain he hadn't previously had access to.

He let himself drop gently to the ground. SuperSaiyan energy banked, body trembling with exertion. He struggled with the realization that he didn't know _who he was_. And just maybe, he was afraid to find out.

He knew he was capable of thoughts and actions his father would be ashamed of. But his father, was an unreliable source (idiot). Shaking his head ruefully at the blaspheme, he wondered what _other_ things were hiding in the Saiyan portion of his soul.

'_Truth. And strength such as you've only begun to imagine.' _The fervent words were an eloquent whisper in the confusion of his mind. They resonated with such _familiar _significance that tears flooded his eyes. He didn't recognize the voice, but some part of him recognized truth in the statement.

Then like a deer alerted to the presence of a hunter, he tilted his head to the side and listened. "Fuck." Unsuppressed ki rolled over him like the drone of a thousand bees, loud and insistent, indescribably angry. Only one person in the entire universe had ki like that. _Saiyan, Royal, Arrogant_, the impressions swarmed at him, demanding his attention, his respect, his…death? "What the hell?" He glared at the purpling sky searching for the owner of that ki. It didn't take long for _it _to find _him_.

"Son of Kakkarot! Come! Face your Prince." The arctic gravel of Vegeta's command ground over him. He realized regretfully, that his frustrated temper fit had not been in any way concealed. His stomach lurched sickeningly as his instincts clashed. Impulses both Saiyan and Human twisted his insides. His respect for his Prince was absolute, unquestioned. It was followed by a fear almost as absolute wrapped in red hot anger that seethed and boiled; anger at his failure, anger at his fear, anger at his stupidity for letting his frustration give him away. _Never mind _that parts of him stirred in restless anticipation of this confrontation, or the fucked up voice in his head declaring that IF he survived this encounter it was _BECAUSE_ he was Saiyan.

Gohan swallowed nervously as Vegeta touched down lightly a few feet in front of him. His instinctive response forced him to drop slowly to one knee, his hand covered his pounding heart, his head bowed in honor.

"Too little, too late, Brat. A scrap of respect can not save you this time. Stand and face _me_." Vegeta's tone hinted at the terrible personal crimes Gohan knew he had committed. His trial for failing to protect Bulma was about to commence, ending, (if collective memory served him well) with his death. Resigned, he rose before the Prince, who was, not surprisingly, dressed in full battle armor. From the tips of his dress-white gauntlets, to the gleam of his gold tipped boots, Vegeta was every inch a wrathful Saiyan warrior, a God betrayed. Black hair flamed above a face chiseled from slate and about as expressive. His eyes, obsidian like Gohan's own, drew him companionably in, but there was madness within, scarcely contained and frankly frightening.

Vegeta moved with the grim determination of an executioner, stalking toward him, brushing against him like some large predatory cat. Fragilely sculpted nostrils flared as he sought specific information and found it, disregarding all else. Ki surged out in an invisible slap, shoving Gohan away forcefully. Gohan watched restraint flee the madness in Vegeta's eyes…but when he spoke, he sounded almost ordinary.

"You have…one….opportunity to explain why you smell of female. Specifically, mine."

"What?" He choked back a stunned laugh. Of the all the possible scenarios Gohan had envisioned, this had somehow missed the list, and his response was less than pleasing to his Prince.

In fact, death stirred in the No Ouiji's bleak eyes, casting graveyard shadows over the angles of his face. His words when he spoke again, were heavily laden with accusation. "Your _actions,_ have dishonored your _family_, your _friends_, and _Your Prince_."

He approached Kakkarot's brat menacingly, armored hands clenched in hard fists, until they were face to face. Twin sets of dark eyes blazed into one another, similar noses flared processing the scents of the encounter, one mouth a thin, firm unforgiving line, the other a sly growing smile that would not be hidden.

"You have no idea what it costs me to treat you like the human trash you are, and give you an 'opportunity to explain', when you stand before me like a Saiyan laughing in the face of death. You should be _dead_!" This time the point blank ki blast caught Gohan in the face, driving him to the ground.

The metallic tang of his blood burst against his tongue and teeth and brought a growl of irritation rumbling from somewhere in his chest. Blotting the crimson from the corner of his mouth with a steady hand, Gohan picked himself up, and settled into a defensive stance, excitement curling in his stomach like holiday ribbon.

"What exactly, is your problem Vegeta-sama?" Gohan demanded. If he was going to die at the hands of his Prince he would hear his charges first. Vegeta's eyes widened. "I owe _you_ no explanation!" he snarled furiously. He rushed Gohan with a series of single-minded kicks and powerful punches, each one neatly blocked; all but the roundhouse that rammed squarely into his gut, folded him like a paper sack and left him sprawled and spitting dirt.

"Too tired to defend yourself Brat?" Vegeta taunted. "She could be exhausting for someone less…experienced." He finished bitterly.

With a mental 'click' Gohan understood. He was not being punished for his inability to protect Bulma, he was being punished because Vegeta thought..…he smirked, a feral flash of white teeth, an aggressive gleam in his eyes.

If the Saiyan Prince wasn't Saiyan enough to tell his mate's scent from that of another, who was he to enlighten him? Just the half-breed brat of a third-class idiot. He'd heard it once too often.

"She's ALWAYS exhausting, but very, creative." He retorted with a suggestive leer and braced himself for sudden death. The impact, Gods! Was that a flash of surprise and pain before Vegeta's eyes hardened to shiny onyx and he attacked? Gohan ducked and lunged, plowing his shoulder in the royal solar plexus, then while the Prince was gasping for air like a flopping fish, he landed a crashing blow on His Majesties' back. Sending him to his knees in the soft sand, briefly.

They stood, neither man breathing heavily, reconsidering one another as opponents. Battle lust glinted in Gohan's eyes, a grin sat mockingly on his slowly bleeding lip.

Vegeta was instantly suspicious. Gohan seemed all too ready for this clash, too Saiyan in his responses. 'When the hell had he started showing his lineage and _why_ couldn't he have started with someone else's mate?' His scarred heart bled like the boy's lip, a slow leeching away of the few good things he had come to know.

"What is wrong" he began calmly, "is that YOU _FUCKING SMELL LIKE MY MATE!_" He roared at the whelp. "You _smell_ like my mate, who has been conveniently gone on a two day work conference--for which she didn't take any of her work things. From which, she returns with a new look, and a new scent. _YOURS_. _Deny it _Brat." The last came with a lethal softness that gave Gohan pause. Underneath the surface hostility, there was a very real plea, for an explanation that would fix this. So _this_, was his one opportunity.

Gohan's vision filled with a thousand images from their ordeal; Bulma collapsing into the arms of the enemy guard, the bruises on her soft flesh where the ropes had pinched in their restraint. The careless brutality with which the Queen had ordered her death, the endless waterfall of blue that had been hacked from her unwilling head, the sound of the guards discussing keeping her for themselves. Her raw keening agony as she tried to rock the pain away in the med bay. Gohan knew he was guilty of allowing these things to occur even if Vegeta-sama did not. He shook his head solemnly, and unflinchingly met the eyes of his Prince. "I can not."

Though it was the shriek of the banshee foretelling his own imminent doom, Gohan wished Bulma could have been there to hear the Prince's cry of rage and despair as he let the SuperSaiyan energy engulf him. How could she think he doesn't care? It's all right there…

Gohan shrugged, dismissing their paltry relationship issues for the action at hand. He stepped into the flow of his own power, it tore through and exploded around him, vital, electric, golden fire. For a single moment he reveled, intoxicated by the potential held within his cells… And just that quick he was teetering on the edge. The vortex of energy drew him inescapably, like scrap metal to an electromagnet. It beckoned, teasing him with seductive flares of fire and light and the promise…of an existence without boundaries.

Vegeta stayed his attack with the ease of a master, and turned to watch the Brat ascend with keen eyes. There was a some indeterminate difference in Son Gohan's energy, something that he had caught just the hint of once or twice before. During the battle with Cell, and the pointless death of his brainless father…. there was that same flicker of '_change_' and a flash of power, that had no equal _anywhere_. Vegeta scowled. Because it called to him. That kind of power could take ownership of any damn thing it pleased. Just as well the Brat was slated to die here and now, he was untrained for dealing with power of that scope, untrained and a danger to them all. "Enough dawdling Brat! Time to die!" Reluctantly Son Gohan turned away from the lure, and went to his well deserved death.

The glowing warriors faced off, shimmering like frantic fireflies in the late evening air, then Vegeta advanced. Hands and feet and body a blur of skilled motion, every strike designed to inflict maximum pain. He hammered Son Gohan with precise blasts of ki driven by gloved fingers that exploded upon impact, the fury of the attack taking Gohan prisoner from the first blow.

Vegeta poured everything into the rage that fed the killing machine, this dishonor could not, would not be slighted. Even if meant there was _nothing_ left when he was done. There was nothing left anyway. Not if this was real, and it felt as real as any of the rest of his nightmare of a life. He thought of the blue-haired woman, and confusion joined the melee in his head.

'How _could_ she? _I am the Saiyan Prince_! I can never be 'affectionate' like that baka Kakkarot, but I am still _ON_ this Kami-forsaken planet…I gave her Trunks….and she _KNOWS_ that I feel things for her that I wish I did not. So Why? And for Kami's sake, why Son Gohan?' He phased behind said enemy pinning his arms behind his back with a snarl. "Why _YOU_ Gohan? I don't understand this at all…but _that_ least of all! _WHY YOU_?"

With an answering growl Gohan struggled to keep Vegeta from ripping his arms from their sockets.

"Baka Ouiji! Smell Again." He panted.

"What?" Came the outraged reply.

Gasping for air now himself Gohan forced the words out between ragged attempts to fill his lungs.

"Smell…AGAIN Vegeta….it is NOT what you think."

Vegeta slid his fingers into short Son hair made coarse and vertical by the effluence of golden energy. He gripped tightly, yanked Gohan's head to one side and rested his glowing cheek against the exposed curve. Breathing deeply, he sorted through sweat and dirt to the scentual impressions of relatively recent sex and the undeniable scent of his blue-haired mate. Then, there was the nose-wrinkling twang of another female and…the musty gory scent of fresh kill. What cause could the Brat have for killing anything?

He drew another breath and the appealing, unexpected scent of a Saiyan male in his prime filled his unsuspecting nose. Reflexively Vegeta snorted, puffing warm moist air against the back of Gohan's neck. Gohan bit back a moan, tried to suppress the reactive shiver that rippled down and out but failed.

So. Kakkarot's half-breed was going through a rut of some sort. With a pithy curse Vegeta flew them straight down, releasing Gohan abruptly who plummeted the last 30 feet and cratered the ground where he landed. After a long moment, Vegeta powered down and followed the Brat's descent, his glittering eyes implacable. The rut was without a doubt the Brat's excuse, but he didn't have to like it. He might just have to die any damn way. It made sense of the power fluctuations he'd sensed though. The physically mature body is able to harness greater energy…simply because of its greater size… The Saiyan Prince crouched beside the newly formed crater and considered blasting Son Gohan as he struggled up the wall like an ant caught in an antlion trap.

Gohan scrambled out of the pit, and to Vegeta's amazement, stood for half a second before his knees buckled beneath the weight of his body. Blood wept from what appeared to be every inch of his skin. Doubled over, Gohan braced shaking hands against his thighs and gasped for air that hurt to breathe. His smile when it formed was still wolfish, mocking.

"Got it that time did you?" His voice scratched hoarsely from behind wounded vocal chords.

Steel grey flecks of murder glimmered in the Prince's eyes, his voice was glacial. "Your new Saiyan attitude is going to get you dead. No one speaks to _me _like that. Who _did_ you fuck…" his eyes flicked to Gohan's bare hands…" and whose blood stains your hands?"

Gohan got to his feet, gingerly brushed sand from his hands and body, and willed trembling legs to hold him upright.

"Who I fuck is not your concern, Ouiji-Sama." A brutish smile accompanied the scornful words.

Vegeta was thinking it was about to become his concern if the stupid brat had killed some woman during his rut. The Ningen authorities would for damn sure be 'concerned.' He stifled a sigh.

Vegeta just stared at him with impossibly intense eyes finally rending a frustrated growl from Son Gohan.

"I am _not_ sleeping with Bulma-san! I can't even talk about sex with her, let alone have it with her." Gohan flushed hotly, embarrassed. The Saiyan Prince snorted at the half-breed's genuine discomfort, and the pain in his chest eased the tiniest bit. He arched one black winged brow in question.

"So. Why _do_ you smell like Bulma?"

"She…fell asleep and I carried her back to the jet." He lied through his handsome teeth.

"Why where you with her in the _first_ place?" Hissed a testy Vegeta.

"I was protecting her baka! Satisfied?" He asked a stunned Prince. "She doesn't like going new places alone and she couldn't very well ask the Saiyan Prince to accompany her now could she? Interrupt your training for some baka weakness every time she has to go away?"

Vegeta's gloved hands clamped around the column of Gohan's throat. He drew the Brat's face to his, black eyes blazing coldly, growling possessively.

"If I find this is a lie, you will die without question. It is MY responsibility to protect her…not yours. Stay. Away. From _my_ mate." He spoke loudly and decisively in case Kakkarot's stupidity had been inherited. He pried reluctant fingers from the Brat's neck.

Gohan nodded painfully at Vegeta who turned to leave, and then glanced back and asked casually, "Did you mark her?"

"Who?"

"The woman you slept with." He replied blithely.

"Define 'mark'." Gohan hedged in genuine confusion.

Vegeta growled lowly in disgust. He had _hated_ that Kakkarot remembered nothing of the Saiyan culture, and now his son is captive to an alien physiology however dilute that he knows nothing about. A resigned sigh escaped the Prince as he stood there, gauntleted hands resting on slim hips, knowing he couldn't walk away and leave the only adolescent Saiyan in existence to deal with his first rut alone. Fucking Noble Obligation.

"Did you bite her, on the neck, during sex?" Was Vegeta's disgruntled reply.

"Oh. No. I…wanted to….knew just where to bite…I can still feel her pulse in my mouth." Gohan answered softly licking his lips. "Vegeta-sama, this interest in blood…it is normal for Saiyans…right?"

"Hn. You did…not…bite her?" Vegeta clarified.

Gohan shook his head in a quick negative motion. A glint of something akin to respect moved in Vegeta's eyes. Adolescence is a volatile time for any species, probably more so for this demi-Saiyan brat. For a Saiyan to not bite during his first encounter was not unheard of, but very rare. It hinted at tremendous control.

"Not someone you plan to bring home to meet Chichi then?" Vegeta snickered cruelly when Gohan blushed to the tips of his ears and looked away snarling angrily. "The mark is a bond shared between life mates. That you were more interested in the taste of her blood than in creating that link, speaks for itself."

Surprise and caution moved in Gohan's eyes. He hadn't expected civil conversation from Vegeta following their confrontation. Of course, he hadn't expected to live. "Wow. A whole sentence without a death threat." He groused.

"Don't get too familiar Brat." The infamous scowl darkened Vegeta's features and aggravation colored his speech. "I don't have to be here. You can go through your first rut ignorant as I can only assume your baka father did." He shuddered at the thought.

"Rut?" Gohan inquired.

Casually, Vegeta removed one glove and combed his fingers through the widow's peak and upsweep of his hair. "A rut, is a biologically…driven…need to mate. Your first rut signals the body's sexual maturity and your availability. Similar to your human puberty."

"Similar?" Gohan latched onto that very important caveat. 'Similar' meaning 'very different', Gohan would stake his life on it.

Vegeta threw a sympathetic sideways glance at Kakkarot's son before continuing. "The _need_ to mate, will preclude eating, sleeping…even schoolwork. In fact, when it fully starts, you will have little or no conscious control over it at all. I strongly suggest you take your woman and lock yourself away for about a week."

"A week?" Gohan's jaw dropped, and then he snapped his mouth shut as the import of what Vegeta was saying sank in. He'd nearly _killed_ the first woman he slept with because he had no control over the energy it generated. He tried to wrap his mind around the idea of a whole _week_ of energy of that magnitude…and no control. He turned wide, horrified eyes on Vegeta. He _had _to be wrong. "What makes you think I'm having my first rut?" He demanded harshly.

Vegeta frowned. "Your scent, is unmistakable." He wasn't sure what reaction he'd expected from his rival's offspring, but panic wasn't it. "And you're exhibiting very Saiyan attributes. Aggression, blood lust, mood and power fluctuations, you may find your sense of smell particularly keen, or perhaps your sense of taste. Some of it varies depending on the person."

Gohan's head spun as he recalled how _very_ sensitive his sense of smell had been in the last few days, from the scent of decay in the jungle, to Mav's desire and Bulma's grief…he was fucked. Literally. Fear lodged in his gut stone cold and sickening.

"What can I do to stop it?" Dread colored his words.

"Not a damn thing Brat. You shouldn't _want_ to. We're talking a week of uninterrupted sex…this is not a _bad_ thing." Vegeta laughed lowly. "Besides, the general consensus on the ship was that if you resist it, it just takes longer to run it's course. What, is your concern?"

'Breathe Gohan. Breathe. Think. You are not the first Saiyan to go through this! There has to be a way to restrain-' Gohan went rigid when he realized what his answer was. 'You, need to see Bulma. She probably already _has_ something …she's mated to your Prince stupid! No one is as strong as Vegeta. No one. Of course she has some type of ki restraint. He breathed a mental sigh of relief and resolved to speak to Bulma the next night, at Vegeta's birthday dinner.

"What do _you_ do Vegeta?"

Vegeta's smirk surpassed Gohan's earlier one in wicked quality, but was short lived. "The Woman and I go away… sometimes we stay at Capsule Corp, sometimes, we take to the woods…it depends on my mood at the time." His eyes warmed with obviously pleasant memories, his lips curved sensually. When the steam cleared, he saw Gohan's look of dismay and took pity on him.

"It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks Brat. This is part of who we are, it's part of you now… and the people you call 'friends', most have already been through this before with your father…and myself."

Gohan felt like he was coming down off an incredible high, leaving him mentally and emotionally spent. "What next?" He questioned his Prince.

The Saiyan No Ouiji let a genuine smile, a slow, sexy smile cross his face.

"Get your woman friend and tell her she's in for the ride of her life." Gohan forced a thin curve in return and wondered if Vegeta knew exactly how close to the truth that was.


	12. Guess Who's Coming To Dinner?

Author's Note: You all KNOW how long it has been since I updated…and I can not help but be amazed that these characters still move me to write after so long. I hope you all are still enjoying the story. It will actually be completed with in the next few months. (yeah, I know…I've said that before.) Anyway, welcome back to all my old friends and well met, to my new readers. The usual disclaimer applies…I do not own Dragonball Z, or any of the characters herein, except Sirabi.

Happy Birthday Vegeta

Chapter Eleven : Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

"I try to do subtle! I do! But I am just not _built_ subtly." Bulma fumed in front of a ceiling to floor mirror, fussing with the latest reject from the "what-to-wear-to-Vegeta's-birthday-dinner" pile. While the word 'pile' hinted at some sort of order, there was none. It was more like a designer clothes diaspora. Thousand dollar gowns had been donned and dropped, tailored outfits in horrendously expensive fabrics were tossed to the floor with such recklessness, that the entire fashion industry must have felt the imbalance in the force. And once you had been discarded…there was no going back.

She paused for a deep breath before zipping up. Anxious eyes assessed the fit of the dress while nervous fingers tugged at the strapless top that threatened to spill her ample treasures.

"Damn!" she spat frustrated. "I can not find ANYTHING that feels right! Possibly because this whole birthday thing is beginning to not feel right." Her wan reflection nodded emphatically in agreement.

"It's too late to back out now," she scolded, and the floozy in the too tight silver lame' tube arched a sliver of brow at her. "We went to such trouble gathering the dragonballs." she pointed out. "And…this, is for Vegeta. For his happiness remember?"

She remembered. A kaleidoscope of blue blurred her vision as tears welled. A dozen Bulma's watched with shining eyes as she touched the crescent shaped scar left bare by the gown. "And the _real_ truth, is that even after all this time, despite the bond, we're like strangers….he so rarely lets me in." She mused. "Barely civil strangers who just happen to have a son…."

Breathing shallowly she steered herself away from that particularly painful train of thought and drove straight into another. Her hair. And the whole, impossible thing that had happened…to _her_. Things like that didn't _happen_ to Bulma Briefs…rubbing shaking hands over her head she scrubbed and pulled and tried to make her hair come back. She shook as helpless grief threatened to overtake her. With a terrible gasp, she fought it down, pushed it away, as ruthlessly as she had discarded the earlier gowns. That way, lay the keening madness of loss. She was afraid if she went there again, she would not return. All that she could do, was take what was left, and create anew.

**The Gravity Room**

"Vegeta." The vid-com blinked on in the room where the Saiyan Prince was doing ordinary push ups in extraordinary gravity.

"What is it Woman?" He replied without breaking stride, mostly because he knew it annoyed the hell out of her.

"Wear something nice to dinner for me. We're having company in honor of your birthday remember? Chichi, Gohan, Krillin and Piccolo are coming over. I think Krillin is bringing Eighteen." The Prince snorted. As if any of that meant a damn to him.

"I do not understand why you insist on making an ordeal out of this day..." He started gruffly and lost count of his push ups when she interrupted.

"I know you don't understand, Vegeta. Humor me...just for tonight...if you would."

The satin sadness of her tone had him peering at her image on the screen. Aside from the short hair which still startled him, she looked…tired. Where had she been and what had the Brat been protecting her from? And what was that flicker of something that she didn't want him to see? She _never_ broke eye contact, and yet, she was studiously looking away from him. Suspicious, he probed their link, and was not surprised to find the usual static preventing his inquiry. There were times he regretted that she had learned to shield herself from him without instruction….the mind does what it must in order to survive he supposed. He realized that whatever she was working so hard to keep from him most likely had to do with his baka 'birth day.'

Suddenly, a deep growl rumbled threateningly from him, dark eyes narrowed on her with fierce intensity, she fully expected the vid-com to melt off the wall as he spoke.

"You are not planning anything so foolish as last year? I will _not_ be humiliated again." The tone of his voice left no question as to his feelings, and shame bowed her head. It had been months before he even spoke to her after last year's Sombrero incident.

"Of course not Vegeta." Her voice was soft with regret. Why did they always seem to be at odds with one another? Always just shy of that 'togetherness.' Tears pearled in the corners of her eyes. That was the whole reason, behind tonight. If you love something, you set it free.

Feather brows drew together in a scowl as he watched the play of emotion on her face. Something was _definitely_ wrong with the Woman.

"See you at dinner then." Her words ended the exchange abruptly and the vid-com went black. One way or another he'd find out tonight. The Prince continued to stare at the blank screen for several seconds before starting his ten thousand push ups over.

Bulma settled on a halter dress that frankly, she had forgotten she owned. For this, it's first (and final) appearance, it was perfection. It bared the expanse of her back, and arms, the rich depth of jewel toned velvet making her skin luminous. The dark turquoise fabric fastened behind her neck with a delicate jeweled hasp, and a matching jeweled chain trailed enticingly between her shoulder blades. It shirred along her body like a dream, ending just above the knee. Her ghost of a smile was one of feminine satisfaction. If any man could get past the color and curves with his mind intact, her shapely legs were encased to mid-calf in teal suede Jimmy Choo's with chrome stiletto heels. She was suitably impressed.

Her impromptu hair cut had been masterfully reshaped to take advantage of the uneven lengths left by a machete. (Pierre, her hairdresser extraordinaire had initially said it served her right for relying on some discount salon when he first saw her.) There were silky, chin-length bangs framing either side of her face, and the rest was short and carelessly styled. The new style, made her features angular, lent an otherworldly glamour that was supported by frosty makeup, and icy diamonds and pearls at her ears.

"Looking pretty good for what might be the last night of my existence…" She worked on the sickly smile in the mirror, flexing it, kicking it up a notch, until you couldn't tell by looking at her, that inside she was kicking and screaming and dying at the thought of being without him.

"Ah. The doorbell." With a last poignant glance at the woman in the glass, Bulma went to greet her guests.

------------------------------------------------

Goku's widow looked fabulously sleek in a black and red satin kimono, her long black hair twisted and secured with red and black lacquered combs.

"Oh My God Bulma! When did you get it done? I mean, you look incredible, but, WOW! What a shock! It's so short…" Bulma winked engagingly at Gohan.

"I had it done this week, Chi, and believe me, it DOES take some getting used to."

As Bulma and his mother chatted, Son Gohan found himself terribly… _distracted_, by their hostess. He knew there was something he needed to talk to her about, but, he couldn't remember what. The moment she opened the door, he'd been _riveted_. It wasn't just her beauty, to which he'd assumed he had a natural immunity after years of regular contact. It was that she was…changed…somehow, as if the woman had been reshaped along with her hair. Gohan squashed that thread of guilt before it had a chance to form and accepted her welcoming hug. He ran scandalized fingers up her bare arms, drew her firmly against him, and filled his nose with the familiar scent of her. An smirk curved his mouth. It appeared, that his Prince was correct. Bulma did indeed smell different, but he hadn't really processed it until this moment.

Intending her words to reach his ears alone, Bulma stood on her tippy toes and whispered directly into his ear. "Pierre said the only way to fix it was to take it shorter, or buy a wig." He shivered as her words warmed his entire body. Putting as little space as he could between them, he leaned back to assess the new hair. He tugged playfully on one blue satin bang before testing the wispy strands at the nape of her neck. "You look…incredible…Bulma." His eyes gleamed with more than just admiration as he released her.

"It's something else isn't it?" She acknowledged with a small smile. Her brows drew together as she spotted the bruising on Gohan's face.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Ve-ge-ta." He held himself perfectly still as she examined the contusions, prodding with gentle fingers.

"What?! Why?" Her mouth twisted in an unhappy slant. Gohan's throaty laughter accompanied a suggestive grin.

"Evidently he's more aware of you than he lets on. When you got home, he saw the new hairstyle, caught my scent on you, and concluded that you and I were," he paused to clear his throat, "together, the two days you were gone. Sleeping…together." He added unnecessarily. Bulma's eyes glistened, her lips pressed tightly together.

"You're not serious!" She gasped before dissolving into a cascade of easy laughter. The genuine sound made his heart sing, but it was a struggle not to be offended by her amusement. Was the thought so outrageous? Vegeta hadn't thought so. His scowl mirrored that of his Prince when her giggles finally ceased. She murmured, "Really, I didn't know he cared." The gaze Gohan turned on her was so heated, that the rest of her laughter evaporated from her throat.

"Oh, he cares all right. He damn near killed me over it." He rotated his shoulders stiffly, grimacing at the discomfort that radiated from every part of his body. Bulma smiled ruefully.

"That doesn't mean he cares. That's just Vegeta."

"Bulma I mean it… I wish you could have seen it." He frowned as he recalled the despair that had fueled Vegeta's attempt on his life. It wasn't hollow and empty, it was _everything_. "You would never have cause to doubt again."

"It won't matter after tonight anyway." She hadn't intended for him to hear. She had no way of knowing that he could taste the finality of her intentions, a bitter flatness on his tongue.

"What…_exactly…._ do you plan to wish for Bulma?"

"Oh you know, women's panties, immortality…the usual." Bulma quipped as she sauntered away flicking a wry smile back over her shoulder at him.

The next moment he was choking as a well-muscled arm clamped around his throat from behind and he was dragged into the shadows. Vegeta, outraged, hissed into his ear.

"Was your father's stupidity inherited?! I told you to stay _away_ from my mate!"

"Was…a…hug." He scarcely managed to gasp out until the Prince released him with a crushing squeeze.

"I don't care WHAT it was! Keep your distance or I'll lock you in a Kami damned cage…" His handsome face was thunderous, his voice promised an agonizing death.

"The closer you get to your rut, the better _everything_ is going to smell….and I don't want you anywhere near my mate! Do not…_forget_…again."

Gohan nodded shortly, his fingers going to his throat. Vegeta sneered. "If we were on Vegetasei, you'd be _dead_ because of your memory lapse, not nursing a bruised larynx… Of course if we were on Vegetasei, you would _never_ have dared touch my mate in the first place. His dark eyes blazed. Such familiarity, is a Ningen practice." He sounded disgusted, and vaguely tired as he disappeared back into the shadows.

-----------------------------------------

"Krillin! Eighteen…I'm so glad you could come." Bulma greeted the fashionably late couple.

"We haven't missed anything right?" Krillin asked. Bulma shook her head. Krillin glanced awkwardly at his watch and his cheeks glowed pink with embarrassment. "We…uh…got, sidetracked." he finished lamely.

Eighteen rolled her eyes and muttered flatly, "Dork."

Bulma grinned at Eighteen and suppressed her snicker.

"You have to tell me where you got those boots! They're Jimmy Choo's right?" Eighteen said with keen eyes. Krillin blinked, surprised at his date's expression. Eighteen gave him an impish smile, and a casual shrug. "Add shoes to your list of things I get excited about." Bulma couldn't help but laugh as Krillin's face exploded in red color, and he choked. Secretly, Bulma was thrilled that Krillin might have found someone worthy of him, even if she did have a…questionable past. 'My God that's the pot calling the kettle…. no one who's going to be here tonight does NOT have a questionable past, except maybe Gohan…' Her grin widened. Aliens and androids, sometimes life just seemed too surreal.

"Yes, well…Gohan and Chi are in the study, the Birthday Boy has yet to make an appearance, and Piccolo isn't here yet." Bulma led them through the house which was decorated with blue and silver streamers. Coordinating balloons drifted along the ceilings, through the halls and in each of the rooms. The study was subtly lit and carried the blue and silver theme to it's tasteful max with an array of holographic stars and moons and the occasional planet floating like shimmering confetti in the air.

Krillin put his palm on the small of Eighteen's back as they entered the study. It was testament to her insecurity that she didn't glare or make him remove his hand. Gohan and Chichi fell silent as they came into the room. Gohan recovered first and met Krillin's slam hug with a cheerful greeting.

"Hey K-man! Good to see you again!" The longtime friends embraced. "Who sucker punched ya this time, buddy?" Krillin mock sneered at Gohan's face.

"Vegeta, who else?" Gohan scowled. It wasn't like he'd never sported bruises before…what the hell was up with everyone?

"_There's_ a story you're gonna tell me later right?" Krillin prodded.

"There's nothing to tell." Gohan said pointedly. With a polite smile, he turned his attention to Krillin's 'date.'

He saw a deceptively thin blonde woman with finely textured, pale hair and uneasy eyes. He also 'saw' that she was attempting to mask the fact that she was nervous about this confrontation in particular. Unfortunately for her, his sensibilities seemed unusually acute this evening as he could smell her discomfort. A tart precursor scent that clashed with her cologne. Mentally he snorted, sounding just like his Sensei. However nervous _she_ was, _he _couldn't help but remember that they had all trained like madmen to prepare for the coming of the androids, of which she was one.

Krillin _had _wished the detonators out of Eighteen and her brother, so they wouldn't self-destruct and take the planet with them. But that hadn't been until _after_ the androids had beaten the hell out of everyone, Vegeta included, then been absorbed by Cell to complete his final transformation.

'And Cell…' That whole god forsaken nightmare, culminating in the loss of his father, _again_, was something that he worked very hard, every day of his life, to cope with. His breathtaking smile curved with a cruel edge.

Now here he stood, with the slender, shaking hand of his father's killer, in his. Damn. Regretfully, he chased the irrational thoughts from his head, and reminded himself, that his intention was to treat Eighteen as a person, not an arch-villainess. For Krillin.

He raised her cool fingers to his lips, and kissed them with all the panache of an old-fashioned movie star. The words that followed, slipped out with just enough volume to reach her cybernetically enhanced ears. "No hard feelings eh?" He heard her gasp and registered the ragged jump in her pulse. His eyes glinted with the amusement of a cat with a cornered mouse.

China blues widened in shock, her mouth formed a small moue of surprise, and his thought, was that she didn't _smell _like an android. She smelled, like a late summer day with dragonflies and baked earth. Some of his favorite things, he grinned rather toothily.

"Really, I'm glad you came, Eighteen." Gohan held her fingers captive when she attempted to draw away.

"Thank you." Her voice held little of the bemused anger in her eyes as she was forced to crush his hand with inhuman strength to free her fingers from his grasp.

"Let's get you something to drink." Krillin suggested and they moved towards the bar.

From the sidelines, Chichi sighed fondly as her oldest son once again made her proud. Not that he ever had to work hard to make her proud. Gohan had often seemed a golden child, gifted mentally and physically but still humble and manageable. Her youngest, was a wild child. And that somehow comforted her, because she knew it was his father's trait through and through. It broke her heart, that his father wasn't there to recognize it. With somber eyes she turned to their hostess.

"Bulma? Does it ever get to you? You know, that the bad guys inevitably end up on our team? Piccolo, Vegeta, and now Eighteen…" She frowned. "Sometimes, it gives _me_ the chills. More so now that Goku is gone." Her voice did not break, but it strained, and Bulma nodded her understanding. "Sometimes yes. But I'll tell you, more and more often, I find myself thinking, that I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of an attack by Gohan either. I don't think we have anything to worry about."

"Hn. Keep your friends close and your enemies even closer huh?"

"What an awful thing to say" Bulma laughed. "Like it or not, I think they're exactly where they're supposed to be. None of us is ordinary. I'm 'mated' to the Prince of an alien race, you are a Warrior Princess, mother to two of Earth's greatest defenders who also happen to be half alien…Hell, Krillin is the only completely human Z Fighter….what better place for a reformed evil android?" She and Chichi giggled shamefully and Chichi felt the tight bands of worry relax just a little.

Gohan turned his head to the side as if listening to something. Krillin followed suit. "Piccolo-san is here." he said.

"He's not alone." Krillin mused aloud.

"Hmmm. I'll get the door, assuming they'll use it….Chi? Would you go to the kitchen and tell the cook to set another place at the table for me?"

"Of course." Chichi headed in one direction, Bulma in another.

Bulma stepped out onto the porch, the night was warm and filled with starlight and cicada song as she waited for Piccolo to arrive. She did not have long to wait. The Namek materialized out of the humid darkness, in casual attire, his flowing armor missing, but not his formal presence.

"I have brought…company. I hope, it is not an inconvenience." He glanced furtively behind her, as if expecting an angry Saiyan to burst out any second and blast him for bringing an uninvited guest to his birthday dinner. Bulma leaned to the left trying to peer around him. "Of course not Piccolo-san, a place is already set." He nodded his gratitude, but shifted so she couldn't see past him. Bulma snorted in amusement. "Very well. Let's just go in then, you can introduce your guest to everyone at once." She turned away and missed the mercurial flash of humor on the Namek's face.

They walked into a room of quiet expectancy, as if they knew something extraordinary was about to happen. Piccolo nodded briefly at Krillin, and then at his protégé, who wore new bruises since they'd talked last. If he had to guess, he'd put his money on the Prince. But there would have been a great deal more damage if _that_ were the case. He sighed mentally. Something else to ask about when they finished that talk they started on the Capsule jet. For right now, there were other things to set in motion. Ducking his head to hide an anticipatory grin, he drew his companion forward and removed her cloak with a small flourish. He waited until he had eye contact from everyone before speaking.

"Everyone, this…is Sirabi-san."

"All right Piccolo!" Gohan laughed quietly as his mother tried to scorch him with a glare and stare at the new arrival at the same time.

A striking figure in cinnamon silk glanced serenely at the entourage, seeing real faces for the first time since learning she was to be involved. She recognized of course, the blue-haired woman and her dragonball hunters, the short bald monk and the young demi-saiyan that Piccolo was so very proud of…but, that wisp of a woman, was mechanical? And where, oh where, was the No Ouiji?


	13. Aperitif

Happy Birthday Vegeta

Chapter Thirteen: Aperitif - a-pe-ri-tif - Fr. Pronounced "a-pey-ree-teef"

1. A small drink of alcoholic liquor taken to stimulate the appetite before a meal.

Gohan approached Sirabi, not completely surprised by her presence at the dinner, and _undeniably_ curious about the female that could intrigue _both_ Kami _and _Piccolo. Slanted, amber eyes filled with humor watched him cross the room, amused that she was being assessed, and keenly aware that this was the _one_ being whose opinion mattered to Piccolo. He needed no introduction she had seen him so often in her visions. 'A mass of contradictions this one…. modesty masking tremendous power… a shy smile, with a glint of something not-nice in his ebony eyes. Completely unaware that he's at the crossroads of his destiny… A dragon in the becoming. The most difficult of paths.' Sirabi hoped she'd be able to ease his transition, at least in places.

"You are Son Gohan, ne?" Her voice swirled around him in an auditory caress and her hands reached for his, bypassing the formalities.

"Guilty." _This_ smile, was the genuine Son article, without guile, that had been known to melt the gates of Heaven and Hell… let alone an unsuspecting woman's heart. Sirabi nearly gaped at its radiance, and might have, if it hadn't also been broadcasting his agony. The others had been fooled, but her gasp, was stolen not by the beauty of his smile, but by the tremendous conflict, the sheer weight of his guilt. Oh! This _child_ thought he was irretrievable! Amber eyes warmed with alarm. No one, is without grace. _Least_ of all this boy who had yet to reach manhood, whose crimes she could count on one hand. She snapped her stunned mouth shut and stared fearlessly into his eyes.

"Not, in the least," She replied surely, with an emphatic shake of her braided head. "But if you insist on absolution, perhaps you should become a Solar Priest. They have the rites of forgiveness down to an art they do them so frequently." Her smile was thin and angry. Gohan blinked, confused. "What?!"

She could not _possibly_ be referring to the events of the last several days? No way in hell.

Sirabi repressed a sigh. It was truly a blessing that she had other gifts, because admittedly, most times she had the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

"I refer to exactly that, Son Gohan." She held his gaze, hesitant to allow him to brush off this crucial moment, "but perhaps now is not the time." She frowned. Even for her, this was tactless.

"What are you talking about?" The look on his face, was one of annoyed disbelief.

"Son Gohan, forgive me. We will speak further, but for now, will you introduce me to the others?" She motioned to the room, changing the subject. A frown still wrinkled his forehead, but he nodded and tucked her hand into the corner of his arm.

"As you wi-- ." He froze in mid-thought as his heart seized with a single painful thud against his ribs. His breath hissed from between his lips in a sharp gasp. Could he help it?! He could _not_. Not when _she_ smelled like some exotic sun-warmed fruit that would be a juicy explosion on his tongue. His lungs demanded another Sirabi-rich breath, each one more intoxicating than the last. He stood forcing air into his lungs, one ragged breath after another… blind to his surroundings.

Sirabi was the only one close enough to realize that her escort had just suffered some sort of attack. Piccolo had never hinted that Son Gohan might have asthma… but his breathing was very irregular, and he seemed…very…tense. Concerned for him, she did a casual scan was nearly scorched in the process. His lips curved in a smirk as he drew in a long, slow breath of the lovely and complex Sirabi. Heavily lidded eyes opened slowly and she saw the dragon in the golden hue of his irises, face to face with a God. Then he blinked, and it was gone. Ebony eyes focused on her with great difficulty, like someone waking from a drugged stupor. His groan was nearly inaudible.

"Son Gohan? Are you well enough?" She kept her tone very subdued. He swallowed and a determined gleam replaced the look of pole-axed stupidity. "Fine." The rough grate of his voice, denied the single word he was capable of.

"Take, a moment." She insisted firmly, knowing how exhausting the birth of power could be. But he only shook his head, and moved her to safer, more populous territory. He brought her first, as he thought was fitting, to his mother. He smiled faintly when she bowed in deference to Chichi.

"It is an honor to meet one so dedicated to her children." Her voice was polished sincerity. "Did you know when you bore them, they would be the Earth's salvation? Each in his own time," she flicked a pointed glance at Son Gohan, "will turn the tide of evil away."

Chichi's sienna eyes razed the stranger's face searching for mockery but found none. She only found the one thing she had _never_ gotten from anyone else, respect for her decisions, and perhaps, an unspoken acknowledgement of the loneliness of her sacrifice. She returned the bow and murmured a genuine greeting in return. She was saddened by the inevitability of the world, but suddenly grateful that she'd given in to her need to train her youngest son, despite the peace they were currently experiencing.

Next, Son Gohan introduced her to Krillin. Sirabi knew that the monk needed only the slightest encouragement, he'd proven himself time and again during his years as a friend to the Son family. It was about damn time he took himself seriously. She leaned down, her braids swinging forward in a curtain of shiny sable, concealing their exchange from the rest of the room. She placed her hand on his shoulder and whispered into Krillin's ear. Whatever she conveyed made everyone's favorite clown turn pale and sway as though his legs might fail him. Naked hope flared in his face for a millisecond before being ruthlessly masked with his usual self deprecating laughter. "Need another drink Gohan? I…._know _I do." He whirled around muttering to himself and headed for the bar. Gohan followed, pouring their drinks and staring strangely as Krillin downed the liquor and demanded a refill with a shaking finger.

Piccolo scrutinized the interactions from the sidelines with his usual placid demeanor. He noticed immediately, that each time Sirabi spoke to someone, they underwent a change. Encounters that began as ambivalent or outright hostile, ended in general acceptance. Kami nodded in his head. 'Empathy is the gift you are witnessing. It is unbelievably powerful when combined with her visionary skills.' Piccolo snorted and Kami continued to speak to him. 'Imagine being able to know a person entirely, their past, present, and as much of their future as it is possible to see… Then add to that, the firsthand _experience_ of how that person feels about their situation.' Piccolo remained derisive.

'You _refuse_ to understand.' Kami muttered darkly. 'If she were less honorable, she could have any kingdom, bend any will. Instead she uses her gifts to ease suffering where she can.'

Finally Piccolo shook his head. 'She'll need every 'gift' she has for what she thinks is her task.'

'We will see.' Was Kami's reply.

"_What_, did you say to Krillin?" The android demanded from behind her. Sirabi turned slowly to face Eighteen, saw the anger in the arctic blue eyes, and nodded, her suspicions confirmed.

"It is good, that you care for him… I meant no harm. He was only surprised I think." She murmured with a smile.

"By - _what?_" Eighteen bit the words out, and tried to ignore the sensations coiling in her stomach. She didn't know who this woman thought she was… just waltzing in and upsetting Krillin… her jaw clenched and her fists tightened, but she didn't give a damn _who_ she thought she was. _She, _was no ordinary woman, to be overlooked and underestimated.

"By your love of course." Sirabi replied smoothly, nonplussed at the aggression rolling in tangible waves from the blonde woman. Eighteen gasped, as though physically punched, anger and hurt blazing in eyes that weren't supposed to be able to feel.

"How _could_ you tell him that?! I -- _CAN'T_ -- love him. I am not capable. _Sixteen_ was the one programmed with emotions."

Eighteen's complete and utter horror and primal fear of loss plowed through Sirabi's shielding in a way the previous aggression could not. It blasted through even the reinforced hold on her emotions. Tears gathered and spilled for the android and she cursed aloud.

"Damn Gero! Damn him to a thousand lifetimes in a thousand hells!" Her anger at the bastard who had played God and created violent destructive machines out of these _people_… spiraled out of her grasp … Sirabi's body vibrated with the effort of restraint, but her voice projected calm in the eye of the storm when she spoke to the android.

"You, have only _forgotten_, Eighteen. You have been _programmed_, to forget. _He_," the name was a nasty snarl on her tongue, "was not so good that he could rip the very soul from a human being. But he _was_ good enough to make you think he had." And she hated it. _Hated_ the horrible things this woman thought she was.

Ignoring the tears that continued to pour down her cheeks she forced steel into her tone, "_Women_… love, give birth, and mother. That is what you are, before Gero, and after. You are a _woman_. You will do _all_ those things…. and you _will_ remember." Sirabi still shaking with the violence of her feelings, vowed to herself that she would fix _this_ damage it if it was the last thing she did while she was on Earth.

"You're mad." Was the android's empty, defenseless reply.

Sirabi chuckled, and fought to escape the mire of hate she had so quickly generated. "More than you could possibly believe, and NOT in the way you're inferring." Forcing the anger to recede, she found in it's place, the deep despair that was always curiously absent from Eighteen's words. She drew a deep breath and steadied herself against it's anguished pull.

"He has already saved you, Eighteen. When he chose not to press that button." Sirabi's laugh was strained. "Incredibly brave, or incredibly stupid. I'm still not sure… but the results, are the same. Now _you_ have to be incredibly brave, and trust him, and perhaps hardest of all, yourself."

The tears had dried to salty tracks that stood out on her pale face and her smile was subdued. "Give things a chance to work out as they are meant to."

"Who - _are _- you?" Eighteen echoed Piccolo's words and tone almost perfectly. Sirabi's lips quirked upwards at the recollection.

"By birth I am a healer. By training I am a Priestess of the Solar Temple. By my choice I am here to help, all of you in whatever way I can." Her smile warmed even as she answered Eighteen with carefully chosen information. She would say no more until she had addressed Vegeta-sama.

"She is a - _friend_, badly in need of a break." The Namek materialized behind them effectively ending their conversation.

"That too." She murmured gratefully as Piccolo took her arm and led her away from a shaken and pensive Eighteen.

"Actually, some air would be great." The quaver of her voice at the end was an indication that all was not well. She frowned and followed the Namek as he left the room.

The moment she saw starlight, and felt the warm breeze on her cheeks, she was able to breathe more easily. She sighed, and released the seething mass that threatened to strangle her insides. _"WHY?!" _She whirled on the unsuspecting Namek and exploded. _"TELL ME HOW IT COULD GET SO OUT OF CONTROL, KAMI???? HOW COULD SO MANY HATEFUL THINGS HAPPEN TO THESE PEOPLE? _They're just…shells." She broke and sobbed. "The boy-child thinks he is beyond saving and he has not even begun yet." She cried harder and grounded the emotional run-off firmly into the grass beneath her. "The android woman believes she is unforgivable…" She hiccupped.

"I really _hate_ this part. That I can take only so much of it for them…" She slid to her knees heedless of the silk of her gown and damp lawn. Slid her fingers deep into the earth where the power of the mother absorbed and absolved. Cleansing her mind and making it possible for her to go on.

"THAT is the tie that binds them. They _all_ think they are without hope. My God. _That_ is why she sought the dragonballs." A wave of nausea swept through her.

"I have my work cut out for me." She said as she rose awkwardly from the ground, starlight shining in solemn eyes and glistening on her cheeks where the tears had fallen. She brushed her hands off and glanced down at her gown with a grimace, as if she could scowl the grass stains away.

A discreet gesture from Kami sent a heady pulse of power racing the length of her body, flowing from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, cleansing her dress and replacing her glamor, so she looked as if they'd just arrived. Hair and dress perfect, eyes shining, not… shadowed.

"Finished?" She prompted with a thin smile. She'd been waiting for him to test her…

Piccolo blinked. Uncertain what had just transpired. But he knew it was more than just an exchange of energy.

"You think you have your work cut out for you? You haven't even _met_ Vegeta yet." His words were harsh.

"A good reason for us to return then, ne?"

He snorted and wished the light wasn't making her eyes look like shimmery golden stars.

"Thank you, Piccolo." She hesitated. "For seeing that I needed a break, and bringing me outside."

"It's considered poor form to collapse while meeting your hosts."

She snickered and normality of it curled pleasantly in his sensitive ears. "I know you don't want me here. It was generous."

He kept his visage blank as he recalled the tremble of her body while she dealt with Eighteen. "It was necessary."

She smiled at him. Perhaps not quite as much work as she had thought.


End file.
